The Volunteer Slave
by Fadargen
Summary: Emma Hawke is plucked from Ferelden and brought to the house of Danarius van Malthas Vanashidion as his slave. Once the magister takes a romantic interest in her, Emma must rely on the guidance of his favorite pet: the brooding elf named Fenris.
1. Prologue - Oh, Fenris

**PROLOGUE**: _Story begins in Chapter 1_

Hawke sighed before crouching to loot the body that lay in a heap at her feet, her bones aching in protest. A dull shiv and an empty stained bottle were all the thug managed to snag before his quick death. Hawke wiped her tired eyes and left the useless items with their useless owner. Her companions followed behind her step, arguing amongst themselves about politics and weapons. One a tall, handsome mage. And the other, a suave, beardless dwarf.

"Varric, what d'you think of our new friends?"

"I think they would be amazing at Wicked Grace, with their stone faces and undying devotion to succeed. We should invite the Arishok to the Hanged Man for a hand."

"That would be a site to see."

All merchants in the square were entirely unperturbed by the ambush and continued boasting their supply as if it never took place. Hawke paused at a reputable booth and purchased salve that would help to calm her inflamed joints.

When the trio neared the gates entering hightown, the weary rogue waved a hand over her shoulder, "I'm going home, I don't feel well."

Anders quickened his pace to touch her arm, "Are you alright? I noticed you looked a bit pale. Can I be of any help? I can drop by after I get some medicine from the clinic-"

"No, Anders," Hawke exhaled and tried to keep the annoyance out of her voice. Anders could be so damn suffocating. She reminded herself that he was just trying to be of use to her. "Thank you. I just need some rest, I'll be fine."

Anders frowned, but nodded his understanding.

Hawke was grateful to leave their side and retreat to the comfort of her mansion. What she needed was some of Bodahn's hot soup, a bath, and a good night's sleep in soft sheets. It had been a long day of fruitless battle with spineless thieves and mercenaries.

But she knew what would be waiting when she arrived. That would need dealing with before anything pleasant was to take place. Hawke pulled the worn letter from her pocket and read it over for the hundredth time as she walked, fingers tracing the inked words. The handwriting was barely legible and the grammar, horrific.

_Hawke_

_ I wil meat you in the 5 day of umbralis Xpect me _

Hawke's lips pulled into a small smile as she stared at the mangled words. She imagined the note's author hunched over piles of parchment, cursing after every attempt to write the single line.

She quickened her strides, stuffing the note into her robes. Today was the 5th of Umbralis.

When Hawke arrived at the mansion, Bodhan and Sandal stood outside. Bohdan's usual nervous disposition was now panicked. The dwarf wrung his hands and blinked wide eyes as Hawke approached, struggling to find his voice. "A man," he started as he twisted his wrists with force, "an _elf_ man is in the manor."

"A what?" Hawke cried, feining surprise.

Bodhan looked pained. "An elf, messere. In the manor. He's armed and he looks...dangerous."

Sandal flashed a toothy grin, adding, "He's an Enchantment!"

Hawke almost laughed, wondering how the elf would react to being called an enchantment. It was true, of course. Sandal was very clever.

"Not to worry," she said to the pair. "I'll take care of him."

Hawke pulled three gold coins from her purse and dropped them into Bodhan's hand. He stared up at her in surprise. "Why don't you go to the Hanged Man and visit Varric?" she suggested with a gentle smile.

Bodhan thrust his hand back out to the mage. "I appreciate the thought messere, but-" Hawke wordlessly passed through the door.

The manor was quiet. Of course it was always quiet but for Sandal's coos and Bohdan's bustling about. Most often the two were sleeping when Hawke arrived home. And it was quiet. Now, with an added presence, the manor seemed increasingly silent. Even the crackle of the fire sounded muted to Hawke's ears.

The elf was nowhere in sight, but she knew he was watching. She turned about the room, propping her twin blades against the wall. She shrugged out of her thickest robe and sighed at the loss of its weight. Rolling her shoulders to work out the kinks, Hawke addressed the hidden man.

"I suppose you've come to kill me then."

No reply was met with the claim.

"Still loyal to him, are you? Even after all that's happened?"

Hawke watched the dancing hearth flames, curling her fingers in wait. He would strike and she would strike back and one of them would die within the hour. Her muscles tensed more and more as the minutes ticked by and she grew angry.

"Don't prolong this, Fenris." she hissed, scanning the room. Still no reply. Hawke groaned and began to search the perimeter. She checked behind doors, under tables, in the shadows, as though the two were engaged in a game of hide-and-seek. Finally, she stomped upstairs and began to search her mother's room. The pain of entering her late parent's chambers was quieted by the distraction of hunting. Hawke searched every crevice before doing the same in the servants quarters. Still no sign of the elf. She scowled, sure he was toying with her.

The door to her room was open, fire light creeping through the crack and into the dark hall. She hadn't noticed it while was searching. Bodhan normally kept it closed. This was where he was hiding. Hawke sucked in a breath of air and let it out slowly. She wrapped her thin fingers around the doorknob and wrenched it open to reveal her chambers.

There sprawled out on the bed, face down into the array of pillows, was Fenris. Hawke stood frozen in the doorway as she took in the sight. The elf was fully decked in that black, unmistakable armor as he lay sleeping. His greatsword, tossed haphazardly onto the floor. The elf's usually contorted features were now relaxed and peaceful. He breathed slowly, deep in sleep, each exhale moving the white hair about his mouth. Hawke's heart clenched painfully.

"Oh, Fenris," she sighed, resting against the doorframe.


	2. This one's a bit daft, eh?

Emma had been warned of the castle's greatness, but nothing could have prepared her for the sight. It stood, dark and colossal, on the peak of the mountain. The cliff surrounding its edges fell into the sea, that turned and sprayed against jagged rocks. The castle was made of spiraling towers and two broad wings that stretched along the mountainside. The countless windows were lit, golden beacons in the night. Even the moon above seemed grander in the castle's presence as it beamed bright and whole just behind it. Emma would expect a king to live in such a palace. Not a whiny slaver.

The young woman gasped as a sharp blade met the small of her back. "Move on," the big voice of her captor warned. Emma hadn't realized she had stopped in her tracks. She blushed and sped up.

"Sorry. I didn't expect it to be so…"

The man grunted and kept the blade against her back.

Emma couldn't help but admire the vast gardens that enveloped the castle's entrance. The many pleasant smells of exoctic blooms wafted over her face as they passed through. She looked forward to seeing the colors in daylight, imagining the sight with a small smile.

"_Get on, you_!" She could feel the dagger break her flesh apart.

"Ah!" she cried before speeding up again. "Sorry."

Another man snorted behind her. "This one's a bit daft, eh?"

"Mm," Emma's captor agreed. "I 'eard she volunteered."

The other man snorted again. "Bit daft."

Finally, the trio reached the cavernous entrance gate to the castle. Four men, two on each side, were waiting for their approach. With a quick nod from Emma's captor, the men began turning heavy, wooden gears that rested against the stone walls. The four men heaved and grunted as the gate shuddered from it's upright position and slowly laid down on its belly. Emma oggled before receiving another poke of the blade to continue on.

"Well done!" she exclaimed to the panting men. They exchanged startled glances before giving the young woman a curt nod.

The doors to the great castle were already wide open when they neared, each with an elvan servant to greet them.

_Slave_, Emma reminded herself, _These people are slaves._

She smiled at the slaves' down turned heads as they passed through the doors.

Emma didn't think it possible, but the inside of the castle was even more breathtaking than the exterior. She marveled at the magnificent chandelier that hung, sparkling glass and candle flamed, over their heads. The floor beneath her feet was a deep blue marble that swept across the cavernous room. The walls were lined with golden trim that swerved and dipped into iconic battles and legends. Bold statues of mages stood poised in mid cast, their vacant faces handsome and proud. Where there wasn't an immense painting of a famous magister, there were mirrors. Beautiful and spanning the length of the wall, reflecting the gold and whites of the adjacent walls. The mirrors made the massive room seem that much more huge.

Emma "oohed" and "ahhed" as they turned into a long hall that separated into rooms and rooms. Her captor gave up on using a knife to move her along and took to dragging her by the arm, though nothing could stop her from admiring every detail. She was thrust into a chamber with a long oaken table extended down the middle, its surface unseen beneath a mouth watering bounty of food. Their smells intoxicated the room. Meats, dumplings, thick soups and steaming bread. Emma struggled to keep the saliva in her mouth from spilling over, swallowing frequently. She had eaten very little on the lengthy voyage, unable to quiet her stomach's groans.

Emma's captor pushed her to the front of the dining hall, where a man sat at the head of the table. Though the table could have seated 40 people and fed 100, he was alone. The man wore lavish robes of navy silk, a beast's' hide draped around his shoulders. He delicately spooned at the stew before him without glancing their way. The trio waited in silence as he slowly ate his course, stopping to blow each mouthful. Emma watched the hot food slip into his mouth with envy. She quelled the urge lick her lips.

After an eternity of careful swallowing, the man looked up from his empty bowl. He stared at Emma with apparent disinterest, his pale eyes drooping in a way that only the rich and proud knew how.

"You're the girl who has willinging stumbled into my lair, hm?"

Emma shifted on her feet, unnerved by his use of the term "lair", but kept her gaze firmly planted on his. His skin was tight around his face, lined with the cracks of age and decorated with a thick gray beard. The skin surrounding his eyes was red, as if he hadn't slept a fitful night in weeks. This must be the owner of the castle, Emma realized. Danarius, the infamous magister.

"Would you care to sit?"

The two men at Emma's side yanked a chair from the table and pushed her into it.

Danarius waved a hand to the bounty before them. "Food?"

Emma did not require further an invitation. She lunged across the table for a bird leg and ripped the greasy meat from its bone with bared teeth, not able to eat fast enough. The rogue couldn't catch the moan that escaped around the mouthful, flavors exploding on her tongue.

Danarius stared intently while she swallowed hasty bites without chewing. It made her a bit uncomfortable, but Emma did not slow her pace. She knew this would most likely be the best meal she would have in years. Until she was allowed to return home.

"Right," the magister began as Emma tucked into a plate of boiled potatoes. "I must inform you of the role you have accepted in this house."

Emma trained her amber eyes on Danarius, almost snorting at the word he used to describe his behemoth mansion.

"Do not think that _applying_ for the job will make it anything less than slavery."

At this statement, a chunk of potato stuck to Emma's throat on the way down. She sputtered and gasped as he continued.

"You _are_ a slave now."

Emma guzzled wine from a golden goblet to wash the food down, attempting to appear unaffected by his words. The effect was lost when she hacked between swallows.

"You will not be paid, you have no rights in this house, I am your master, and you will obey my every order. That is what separates you from a servant." Emma almost asked if she should be writing this down, but thought better of it.

Danarius's demanding words sated Emma's hunger and she slowly pushed the plate away in distaste.

The magister seemed pleased with her sudden loss of appetite. "As you know, your stay is situationally temporary. Until your debt is paid. Unless I change my mind. You have that fortune over the others."

Others. Emma peered about the room, searching for the ones without her 'fortune'. The slaves, all of elven descent, stood erect on their heels, heads turned to the marbled floor. They each wore the same vacant expression, reminding Emma of the docile cows in Ferelden.

"You'll be escorted to your chambers. I've separated you from the elves, of course."

Emma stared blankly at the man. She was to be isolated? She was to sleep alone in this gigantic place? What could she have said to provoke Danarius into making such an arrangement? Could it be at all possible for her to refuse?

Danarius sighed, pulling Emma from her contemplation. "You are not well acquainted with manners, I take it."

Emma did not understand. She ate only when granted permission, she was silent as he spoke. Which toe had she stretched out of line? The two men behind her coughed and shoved her shoulder, as if to hint at something. Danarius continued to stare, waiting for an answer of some sort. Emma had no inclination as to what, but made an attempt with uncertainty. "In what way have I not displayed manners?"

The room took in a collective gulp of air, raising the hairs on Emma's neck. Servants risked lifting their heads a fraction in order to steal a glance at the young woman.

Emma saw the burst of light before she felt its heat. It shined, white and sizzling, as it met with her chest. The force of the bolt sent Emma flying from her chair and across the dining hall. She landed in a heap against the marble floor, resonating an echoing smack throughout the room. She stared at the ceiling, eyes wide open in shock, confused as to what happened. Emma was surprised to find that the ceiling was also made up of geometric mirrors and stared at her own body sprawled out above.

"From now on," Danarius called from his seat, "You would do well to thank me when I have given you a gift, be it food or a room. Do not question me ever again. Address me as 'master'. Fenris will show you to your chambers."

Emma watched a man approach, with a head of pure white hair. She expected to turn her face to find a withered elder standing before her, but she was dead wrong.

The man was an elf and stunningly beautiful. Though his hair suggested old age, his features were young and striking. He gazed down at her, the contours of his face pulled into a glower. Emma stared back into his emerald eyes, inhaling sharply at their intensity and deciding she couldn't keep it up for long. This man was unnerving. Before looking away, Emma noticed a series of thick, white lines running down his chin and weaving about his arms.

Groaning softly, she rose into a wobbling stand. "You're Fenris?" the rogue whispered, not wanting to upset Danarius a second time. Emma's body was already weak from the long journey; another blow would undoubtedly send her into unconsciousness, a state of vulnerability she did not want to fall into at a place like this.

The man did not reply to her inquiry, instead turning away to begin walking out of the dining room. Emma scrambled to fall behind his quick step. The elf's feet were missing shoes, she discovered, as they entered a corridor. The beauty of the castle immediately assaulted her eyes again, but she was able to focus on the elf, not stopping to look. Perhaps due to his own attention-snatching beauty.

Emma tried to speak with him again. "This castle is beautiful, isn't it? I've never seen such architecture, even in paintings." She watched the back of his head as they walked, disappointed to find that it did not incline a fraction at her words. The rogue scrambled for some common ground, something they could talk about. She loathed the idea of remaining isolated the entire time she labored here. How long had he worked in the castle? No, that was an inappropriate question to ask a slave. What did he like to do during free time? Well, she wasn't sure if he_ had_ free time, so that might upset him.

"My name is Emma," she blurted, kicking herself immediately after doing so.

Again, he did not answer. Emma's cheeks burned as she focused on her shoes scraping against the marble. She would not say another word. Perhaps the rogue offended him when she offended Danarius. The elf could be very protective of his master and she'd shown disrespect towards him. Or Fenris could be shy, she thought hopefully, not used to conversing with outsiders. Or..._maybe_…

"Are you deaf?"

Fenris whirled on his heels and strode to tower over her. He spoke with a severe clarity that suggested he believed his recipient to be very slow, indeed. "No, I am not deaf, though I crave the impairment in your presence." He spit the words out as if it burned his tongue to say them. The elf's green eyes were sharp and _abundantly _angry. Emma found it startlingly difficult to look into them, taking to glancing anywhere else at all. The white walls, the gold trim, the marbled floor. Her own fearful expression in the mirror.

"I'm sorry," she breathed, staring at their reflection.

Emma watched the reflected Fenris turn with a scowl and glide down the corridor. Her eyes stung with the tears of rejection, but she opened them wide to keep them dry. The thought of crying in front of this man was horrific and Emma did everything she could to prevent the occurrence. She resolved to scoping out the castle again, finding that the glamorous design provided a good diversion.

The castle became less fine as they walked, and rather stoney and monochromatic. The walls became less and less decorated with paintings and mirrors until finally, they were bare. Emma supposed they had reached the servant's lodging, surprised to find that ornaments did not extend to this section. It took away from the castle's beauty in the facet of wholeness, like a scar on an otherwise breathtaking face.

They arrived at a spiraling stone staircase, of which Fenris directly began to climb. This section of the castle lacked lighting, with only a few small candles spanning every 100 feet to guide her way. During light hours, the windows would be able to illuminate the corridors. But at night, the air was positively dark. Emma didn't like the feeling that slowly crept into her chest, cold and aching. Fear. She never liked the dark. Possibly the only rogue of her kind. Emma did not rely on stealth when in combat, only quickness and precision. The single thing that kept fear from slowing her limbs was being in another's presence, as unfriendly as he was. Emma's heart began to pump faster as she remembered her chambers were secluded from the rest. She did not want to be alone. Not at all.

Emma's chamber was on the far end of the long corridor, indeed segregated from the other rooms. Fenris wrenched the door open and stood beside it, waiting for her to enter. His bright green eyes gleamed, two orbs of light, in the darkness. Emma did not want to leave their glow, even as they glared at her in resentment. When she did not move, Fenris seized Emma's arm and thrust her inside, slamming the door shut with an ominous _bang_.

Emma stared with wide eyes about the room, unseeing. The room carried no candles, and, she discovered with a small whimper, no windows. It was black as pitch. She reached out a hand inches from her face, and stared into the dark, searching for her fingers. Emma felt a bubble of panic rise in her chest, threatening to turn itself into a scream.

Instead, she turned round, felt her way to the door and passed her hands over its surface until her hands met the knob. Emma slowly opened the door, ashamed at her inability to be in a lightless room. The distant candlelight poured quietly into the dark space, easing loose the knot in her stomach. Emma again brought her hand to her face and sighed when she could see its outline.

Sleep called to her from the small cot across the room. Emma immediately peeled off her clothes and let them crumple into a tired heap on the floor. Adorned in her light smalls, she climbed on the cot and wrestled under the thin, wool blanket. Itchy and not protecting her from drafts that slip through cracks in the walls, but still a blanket. It melded against the form of her body and carried her to a place with lots of candles.


	3. Speak freely

Emma awoke with a jolt, a hand just leaving her shoulder. She rubbed her tired eyes, wishing for at least another week's sleep and peered into the dim room, in search of her waker.

"Fenris!" she cried. The elf stood, armed in a set of black leather that spiked along his joints and chest. He still wore the same expression of hatred as yesterday, only it had somehow magnified. If that were even possible. "What is it?" Emma asked with a hint of annoyance, growing weary of his constant vexation.

Fenris tossed some kind of cloth between them, which landed in her lap with a sigh. Emma gathered the material in her hands, examining it for its purpose. Simple, brown robes. "Am I to wear these?" she inquired the man. His brow somehow furrowed itself even deeper at the question. The look expressed that the elf clearly thought her daft. Emma would not avoid questions, however, no matter how obvious the answers may be. She learned yesterday that in order to fit well in this strange place, questions would need to be asked. Emma did not want to increase her already grim odds at upsetting Danarius. Her spell struck chest burned at the thought. No, she wouldn't want to repeat that.

Fenris left her to change and she did so quickly, running a hand to tame her wild, chestnut locks. Emma used this time to take in her surroundings. Her room was minimally furnished, just as she suspected. The cot and a small cupboard shoved against the wall were the chamber's only ornaments. Emma hoped she would be allowed to decorate the room, though not knowing how to obtain anything without pay.

When Emma stepped outside, Fenris was not there waiting for her. Instead, a thin elven woman with doe eyes stood in his place. The woman squared her frail shoulders as Emma closed the door, sizing the rogue up.

"You," the woman began, a thick Dalish accent marking her words. "You've been the talk of the house, you."

"Have I?"

"Remove your shoes," the woman commanded. Emma balked, but did as she was told. The woman snatched them from her grasp as soon as they left her feet. "You won't be needing these anymore."

"Why?"

"You ask too many questions," she snapped, but nevertheless answered Emma's query. "The constant noise of shoes against the floor is inappropriate and provokes the master. There are many of us and so bare feet quiet the bustling."

The woman started down the hall at that, robes whispering across the stone floor. Emma followed close behind, wondering at the strange nature of this elf. Why was she not so submissive like the others? Last night, the elves' eyes had barely left the ground. Her robes were also different from Emma's. They were a deep blue color, to match the marble floor.

"Are you the head of the servants?"

The woman stopped suddenly and faced Emma. Emma's cheek stung like a fire had been lit there and realized that she had been struck. Her eyes widened in bewilderment as the woman stroked the back of her finger against Emma's burning face. "Asking questions," she spoke gently, "is a habit that will end your life one day. Perhaps in this very house."

Emma stared, disregarding the instinct to reply, but feeling rude in her silence. The woman seemed pleased with the quiet, however. "That's it. You'll learn, dear."

With that, the elven woman continued on across the corridor. As the pair began their descent down the staircase, she spoke to Emma in hushed tones. "I am Tarmaiiel and, indeed, I am the head keeper of this estate." The further they delved into the more lavish parts of the castle, the quieter Tarmaiiel's voice became. By the time they reached the main floor, Emma was bent toward the elf, strainig her ears to catch Tarmaiiel's words. "I have been tasked with grooming you into a proper servant. You must do everything I say, understand? When I say, 'leap from the banisters', your blood must paint the floor. Understand?" Emma nodded vigorously, though praying she would never be assigned such a mission.

Tarmaiiel led her into the dining hall where she demonstrated how to clear the plates and set the table. She showed Emma the wine cellar that dwelled deep beneath the castle and listed how to detect the signs for the master's desiring a glass.

"Above all," Tarmaiiel murmured, tipping a bottle of red wine into a crystal goblet, "You must not spill a drop." Emma watched the thick liquid slosh delicately into the bottom of the goblet, rising against the walls.

Tarmaiiel told Emma she did not expect her to receive dining duty so early in enrollment, but that Danarius required all of his servants to be prepared in carrying out the task, if need occured. "It's really for the more experienced servants, like myself. The real business for you will be cleaning."

Emma felt encouraged by the simple words. She expected she might like to polish such an extraordinary house. If she could contribute to its beauty, sustain it, perhaps the labor would even be enjoyable. Emma imagined herself on a tall wooden ladder, reaching a hand to wipe every crevice in that glorious golden trim-

"Emma! This way!"

Tarmaiiel introduced Emma to her new companions; a dusting cloth, a broom, a bucket, and an old rag to wash the floor.

Emma's new duties consisted of, but were not limited to, dusting the furniture, polishing the mirrors, sweeping the floors, arranging fallen or discarded items like books or rum glasses, changing bed sheets, and emptying chamber pots.

The tasks seemed simple enough, though it would take all hours of the work day to complete them in such large and detailed a mansion. Rolling up the sleeves of her robes, Emma immediately set to work in dusting. Elves scurried in and out of the rooms as she worked, and the atmosphere was peaceful and practiced. With so many servants, no one was assigned tasks that limited the quality of their work through fear of incompletion. Everyone could carry out their business without worry. The rogue even had to stop herself from humming on several occasions. Honestly, Emma wondered, who said being a slave was so bad?

It was as Emma swept away at the main floor that the castle's entrance doors burst open to reveal the master and Fenris. Danarius rushed inside, eyes bulging and veins protruding beneath his skin. Emma dropped her broom at the sudden noise and it landed with a loud clatter on the floor.

The two men turned to glance at her. Danarius, with wild eyes, and Fenris, cold like a winter's morning. They then hastened into the study, Danarius spitting out sharp words to the elf that Emma could not comprehend. She was thankful they chose a freshly clean room for their hasty activities.

The doors to the entrance had been left wide open, revealing bright hues winding across the gardens. Two elven men hunched over petals and hedges with shears. Emma greatly yearned to join them, to suck in a breath of the floral air. She ambled over to the door to get a better peek, broom still sat on the floor. Two magnificent fountains rested on both sides of the garden. Each carried a stunning mage woman in its center, water spouting from her stone fingertips. Insects with colorful wings danced around the blooms. The older of the two elven men straightened his back with a wince, wiping the sweat from his brow. His eyes met with Emma, and he brought two hands out to gesture her leaving. She sighed, wanting to drink in the gardens much longer, but forced the great doors closed.

"What are you doing there?"

Emma whirled round to find Danarius staring, his body leaning against the study's entrance frame.

"The doors were opened, I was just closing them."

The magister passed his eyes, more tame than before, over her body. His lips pulled down at the corners. "You still haven't learnt to call me 'master'," he scolded. "Ah, well, you will."

"Oh, yes." Emma promised, ignoring the feelings of disgust that wrapped around the title. "I'm very sorry, master."

"Would you care to join me for a drink in my study?"

"Yes," Emma scanned the room. She hadn't finished her duties and the bright of day was coming to its end. Emma did not wish to be working alone in dark rooms, changing sheets, and hoped Danarius would dismiss her quickly to tend them while she still had a bit a light.

Emma walked slowly to the magister's side.

"Yes, what?" he murmured, extending his arm for her to grasp.

"Yes, master."

Emma took his arm carefully and they entered the study.

She liked this room. It smelled of ink and parchment. Hundreds of fat books sat on shelves that hugged the interior walls. There was no hard marble in this room, and rather luxurious rugs that extended in patterns. A large desk rested before a glass stained window with piles of scrolls and books that slavea were forbidden to disturb. Embers danced inside the tall hearth, alabaster figures carved expertly in the mantle.

Fenris stood in front of the fire, eyes threateningly sharp. A great sword that was absent the previous night now rested on his back, stretching the length of his body.

Danarius led Emma to the cushioned chairs sat before the fireplace and motioned for her to rest. She lowered herself cautiously into the soft padding. The cushion was infinitely more comfortable than her cot, and Emma feared she would fall asleep if Danarius kept her by the fire for long. She forced her eyes to remain alert, finding that occasional glances toward the fierce elf kept her attentive.

The magister settled into the cushions of another chair, facing the hearth. He snapped his fingers and shortly after, an elven woman entered the room with a large bottle in one hand, and two glasses in the other. The woman artfully poured the dark, red wine into each of the glasses while remaining in a stand. Emma payed close attention to the woman's fingers as she handled both glasses, mimicking the movements with her own. A soft chuckle resounded from Danarius's chest and she turned to find him gazing fixedly on her face. Emma dropped her hands into her lap, cheeks hot with embarrassment. She glanced Fenris's way to find that his frown had deepened and turned to stare indignantly into the fire. Why did he have to be so upset with her all the time? What offense was she repeating in his proximity? Emma and Danarius accepted their drinks from the woman, the latter dismissing her to continue the day's duties.

"He is _frightening,_ isn't he?" Danarius spoke with a soft smile, confusing her frustration with fear. "Those ghastly eyes set a chill in my old bones alike."

Emma peeked at the elf again, grateful to find that he now stared into the fire. Ghastly? No. Intimidating, she decided. Cold. But not ghastly.

"Speak freely," the magister ordered, noticing the refrain in her features.

Emma struggled for something to say other than what she was really thinking. She did not want to defer against Danarius, nor offend Fenris, who clearly tried his damndest to fit the magister's description. "Your home is beautiful," Emma announced decidedly, bringing the glass edge to her mouth. She took a sip of the bittersweet nectar, eliciting a sigh past her lips. "Your wine is delicious." Emma took several more heady drags from the glass, enjoying the startling tang that settled on her tongue.

Danarius stared at the rogue for a long, drawn moment. Emma was beginning to fear that she had said something wrong again when Danarius threw his head back into a barking laugh. Emma started at the sudden sound, gripping the glass tightly so as not to spill it. She noticed Fenris shift on his bare feet, pulling his arms into a knot against his chest. Danarius laughed until he fell into a fit of coughs, clutching his sides and pulling sips from the wine to settle his throat.

"_Thank you,_" he wheezed. "_Leave now."_

Emma jumped from her seat, eager to escape the humiliation that had found itself a home in the magister's study. The rogue prayed she left the feeling behind her, vowing to never speak freely again. When she wasn't offending the people around her, she was embarrassing herself. Emma gulped the remains of her wine and wiped the back of her mouth.

She delivered the glass to the kitchens for cleaning and rushed upstairs to changing the bedding, grateful that the day's light had not yet left. Danarius apparently hosted many guests often and so demanded that the rooms remain in constant order, the beds, freshly lined. Emma admired each room's elaborate furnishing as she worked and rewarded herself a peek from the windows upon completing a bed.

Emma made quick work of the chamber pots, dumping them into a large container at the rear of the house. The strong hands would lug these containers to the cliff's edge and dump them into the sea below. Emma resolved to never go for a swim in Tevinter.

When the day ended, Emma joined the other slaves in the kitchens for the evening meal. She gasped when she entered the room, startled at the vast number of elves collected together. It did not seem like there were so many when they were all scattered about the huge mansion.

Each elf ate from their hand, to Emma's horror, a hunk of bread and cheese.

She hurried to find Tarmaiiel among the crowd. The older woman stood at the front of the kitchens, administering slices of bread and cheese to each elf.

"This can't be all," Emma hissed when she neared, "This is not enough after so long a day."

Tarmaiiel sighed as she cut, exhausted from the day's excursions. "It is enough and we are all accustomed."

"You shouldn't be!"

Tarmaiiel fixed her round eyes on Emma, heaving another sigh. "Just as well, child, you've been given a separate portion from the rest."

"What?"

Tarmaiiel brought a large platter from the counter behind her with two hands, grunting as she lifted. The platter's surface carried heaping piles of sausages, berries, carrots and boiled potatoes. Her plate alone could feed almost the entire room, alongside their bread and cheese.

"Why?" Emma murmured slowly, brow furrowing. "I don't want this."

Tarmaiiel's eyes widened in shock, glancing at the bounty of food and back to the rogue. "You must accept it!" she cried softly. "This will strengthen you for a week."

Emma snatched the plate and set it down upon the table beside the meager bread and cheese. "Please," she addressed the room. The elves stole hungry glances at the food before shying guiltily away. "Eat."

They all lifted their heads to gawk at the human.

"Please," Emma said again. "I can't accept this while you eat so little."

She fled the room before her eyes wet with the hot tears she felt coming. How could Danarius expect her to gorge herself in the face of people who are practically starving? She raced to the servant's quarters, eager to sleep off the unpleasant feeling in her chest. When Emma turned a corner, she collided with a wall of armor. She lifted her eyes to find Fenris glaring down at her.

"Finished already?" he asked quietly. "You must have skipped the formalities of chewing."

Emma shoved past him and dashed to her chambers, face streaming tears. She did not notice the dark that had crept its way inside her room and slammed the door, engulfing the air in black. Emma felt her way to her cot, not bothering to remove her robes and struggled into the thin sheet. She wept quietly in the silent room until sleep consoled her aching heart.


	4. You gave yourself to him

Light filtered in through Emma's room as she opened her eyes. It was bright, unlike the glow of distant candles. She turned her head to find that three thick sticks of wax now rested on top of her cupboard. They sat in small bowls that caught any dripping substance. The flickering light from the candles was happy and carefree. Emma stared at them for a long time before falling into a much more fitful rest.

vVv

"Wake," a voice whispered into her unconscious thoughts. "Wake, you ignorant girl."

Emma started, groggily gazing about the room. It was empty. She leaned up from the mattress, yawning and stretching her arms that popped as she did. Emma peered at the candles that mysteriously arrived in her room last week. When she thanked Tarmaiiel for placing them in her chambers, the woman frowned in confusion. Emma did not investigate further, pleased with the thought of having a silent guardian in the castle. Though how her helper knew she was without candles, or felt she needed them, was beyond Emma.

She sleepily changed into her brown robes, subduing her wavy hair into something half-way presentable.

The week yielded less humiliation. Emma found her place among the elves and they accepted her quickly. Days spent in the castle were long, monotonous, and repetitive. But manageable. Emma would wake up each early morning, join the others for breakfast, carry out her duties, share an evening meal with everyone, and sleep. Over time, she began to thoroughly lust after the sleeping bit.

Danarius did not summon Emma to his study a second time, and she almost never saw him around the castle. The only thing he did to convey his attentiveness was providing Emma with a continuously astonishing platter of food. Of course, she always set the bounty down onto the servants' dining table, encouraging that the elves take what they wanted and shoving food on their plates if they hesitated. The elves did not hide their appreciation. Only Fenris, who always stood in the darkened corner of the room during meals, treated her like a stranger. A very unlikable stranger that lured children into pots of boiling water.

"It has been so long since a human showed us kindness," Tarmaiiel murmured to Emma one afternoon.

Emma paused her working arms. She was knelt, leaning forward to polish the marble floor. After watching the rogue gently slide the rag's tip across the stone, Tarmaiiel had felt the need to intervene. The head keeper had monitored Emma's wiping, teaching her how to effectively swab every inch until her face shown on its surface

"That is...that's…" Emma was at a loss for words to describe it. How could anyone possibly stop from showing kindness to such a gentle group of people?

Emma lifted her gaze to Tarmaiiel who was staring at the master's study with weary eyes. "I shouldn't say that," she said with a voice that contained no ounce of regret. "I'd be burned alive if someone heard."

Emma sputtered at the brash statement. She never witnessed a human inflict harm on an elf in Fereldon, nor inside this very castle. The young woman tried to imagine the horrible scene, but could not form the picture behind her lids. Opening her eyes, she steered her gaze to the master's study. "That cannot be true," Emma decided quietly. She meant no disrespect to Tarmaiiel, but simply wasn't ready to believe it. This was going to be her home for a while and she would like to pretend that it was inhabitable. Until she was forced to acknowledge it.

Tarmaiiel's cheeks lifted into a warm smile and she left Emma to finish her work.

The floor was complete within the hour. Tarmaiiel's advice made the work go by much faster and Emma was happily hauling her wash pale toward the castle's entrance to set outside for the gardeners. When she neared the great doors, they suddenly flew open to reveal a very broody elf. Emma yelped in surprise, dropping the pail that spilled its contents all over the floor. The deep, blue marble that was shining just moments ago. She stared at the mess that now covered the floor in a blanket of filth, gripping her robes with tight fists.

Emma turned to find Fenris smiling for the first time since they met. If her hands had held a second pail, it would have joined its friend on the floor. Then she realized it wasn't a smile. It was a smirk. His bright green eyes danced around the room in apparent satisfaction.

"Missed a spot," he snarled with a dark smile, before walking swiftly past her and into the master's study. Emma stared after the elf, face reddening in either anger or embarrassment. Or both.

vVv

"Is Fenris horrible to you?" Emma asked Tarmaiiel over supper that evening.

The older woman's eyes lifted from slicing cheese and immediately took to searching the room.  
"Don't look at him," Emma hissed, making Tarmaiiel laugh. Nevertheless, she trained her round, milky eyes back to her ministrations.

"No," she replied lightly, passing Emma a slice of cheese of which the girl promptly inhaled. "Why do you ask?"

"You know why," Emma whined around a mouthful. "I know you've noticed." she swallowed thickly and winced. The food stuck to her throat and she hacked away, trying to free it.

"Chew!" Tarmaiiel cried, slamming her back. "Honestly, child, you eat like a crazed mabari!"

Emma wheezed, struggling to breathe. She was laughing at the expression on Tarmaiiel's face, which made it much more difficult to channel air through her lungs. Elrond, a teenage gardener, passed a flask of water into her hands. Emma gulped until the food was pushed the rest of its way down. She lowered the flask, giggling and coughing.

Tarmaiiel was shaking her head. "Honestly, child," she repeated. "Thank you, Fenris. She's safe from the cheese."

Emma whirled around to see him, staring at her with tight eyes.

He turned to retreat to his corner, heaving a sharp sigh. "Crazed mabari," he muttered under his breath.

Emma watched his armored back, quelling the urge to toss a nearby dumpling into that pure, white hair. "See?" she whispered to Tarmaiiel.

Emma helped Tarmaiiel divide the platter into equal portions atop plates. She was always pleased to find that each plate of food could fill a large person to contentment, even without their bread and cheese. Emma was glad to be able to help feed the bunch, even if through Danarius. Why did he do it, though? She asked herself this question for the thousandth time, running the possibilities through her head yet again. Danarius could be partial to humans, not wanting her to starve like the elves. It could also be due to the fact that she was not a permanent resident. He could worry that she might spread stories of his cruelty. _Please let it not be because he fancies me_, Emma prayed.

The elves began filing behind one another to receive their plate, each thanking Emma directly. She hated that they did this. The food should not have been a rare privilege, but their right as beings that needed it in order to live.

One plate remained on the dining table. As it always did. But the owner never came to claim it. Fenris drew the last bit of bread into his mouth, chewing slowly. He pushed away from his spot on the wall and turned to exit the room.

vVv

"Girl," a throaty voice travelled into Emma's ears. It was so deep, the voice, vibrating against the walls of her skull. The sound was gentle and menacing in one breath, rumbling against her skin like a rough caress. Cold fingertips nudged at her arm. "Emma." The young woman's eyes cracked open at the sound of her name being spoken. She sat up in bed, meeting the gaze of her waker.

"Fenris," she sighed, leaning into her hands as they rubbed her eyes. It did _not_ feel time to get up. "What is it?"

"Danarius would like to share a morning walk with you. Come." With that, he was out the door.

Not seconds after it closed shut behind him, Emma was on her toes, changing into her robes as if her life depended on it. She grinned as she raced down the stairs, weaving messy locks behind her head into a braid. Emma was going to go outside. She was going to see the beautiful flowers that she could smell every time the front doors were opened. She was going to stretch her legs under the sun! Her skin buzzed in anticipation to soak up fresh air.

Fenris and Danarius were already waiting in the main hall, engaged in conversation. Danarius looked up when he heard Emma's approach, letting out a low chuckle.

"You look pleased." Danarius observed, extending his arm to her. Emma's smile widened, but she remained silent. She did not want to spoil her chances of seeing the sky by talking out of turn. Fenris strode ahead to open the castle doors.

Emma's breath always caught in her throat when she got a glimpse of outside. Now that her feet were stepping past the threshold, she felt the dank air escape her chest, making room for _real _air. Emma closed her eyes, inhaling the scent of the flowers and distant sea salt.

She opened her eyes to the brilliant blooms that surrounded the trio. Bright petals of every color imaginable swayed in the breeze, creating the kind of rainbow one could find bent across the sky. Butterflies danced over the petals, casting delicate shadows. Emma heard the babble of the fountain to her left and turned to see its elegant shape. The woman who stood its center was so beautiful that Emma yearned to get a closer look. She pulled gently at Danarius's arm in the direction of the posed statue. He followed wordlessly, the strange animosity slowly leaving his eyes. She knew it was bold, leading him, but how could one quarrell in such a magical place?

When they reached the fountain, Emma couldn't resist the urge to reach out a hand and touch the figure. She passed her free hand over the smooth, alabaster surface. It was irrevocably calming to watch the water as it fell into the stone bowl below. Emma felt she could remain in this garden forever.

She rested on the fountain's edge, motioning for Danarius to join her. He did so with unshielded curiosity, studying her all the while. Fenris leaned against a nearby crabapple tree. She bent back on her hands to stare up at the sky. Oh! It was so beautiful. The purest cerulean that the sky was created in order to be, streams of clouds with pink hues stretched across its body.

They sat at the fountain for a very long time, watching clouds shift across the sky in a peaceful silence. Emma's eyes soaked the shapes and colors all around her like a thirsty sponge. She was so grateful to this man, whether he had good or bad intentions, whether he was cruel or kind. The young woman didn't need to like the magister to appreciate this visit. He gave her a gift that she would cherish forever. Emma could be locked away in the castle for the rest of her stay, as long as she had these memories to call on.

"Thank you," she sighed. "That was perfect."

Danarius let out a long breath and rose from his seat. "Come." It was an order, but it didn't carry the weight of authority. The word was soft on his lips.

They re-entered the castle, Danarius disappearing into his study without so much as a backward glance, shutting the door gently behind him. Fenris remained beside Emma, staring down at her with his usual intensity.

"Aren't you going to follow him?" she asked lightly. Her mood was at the best state it had been in months, not just since she arrived at this place. Even Fenris couldn't bring her down from the high, though she knew he'd try his best.

"He doesn't want my company." The words were slow and deliberate, like it took all the effort in the world to say them.

"How do you know that?"

"He shut the door." Fenris answered, his voice rough.

"Now what do you do?"

"Something other than this."

Emma said she wouldn't let Fenris bring her down. So he wouldn't. No matter what he said with that stupid, arrogant mouth.

"Well," she replied carefully, valiantly dulling the edge that crept into her tone, "you're in luck. I can't force you to speak with me."

"Then why do you constantly attempt it?"

"Because," Emma snapped, giving up entirely on her resolve. Yes, it didn't last long, did it? "I want to uncover what it is I'm doing to piss you off so that I can stop repeating it _directly_ and thus, Andraste willing, end your incessant glaring!"

Fenris turned to face her, leaning in so close she could feel his breath on her skin.

"You made a grave mistake today, Emma."

She couldn't meet his eyes and set her gaze above his spiked shoulder. So deep with hate and dead all at once, those eyes. Like a vengeful ghost. "What, in speaking my mind?" she challenged, her voice quaking a little.

"Precisely."

Emma felt a chill run up her spine. "I'm sorry if I hurt your feelings, but you _do_ most certainly treat me with disdain and I-"

"I'm referring to when you _spoke your mind_ in the garden."

"What?"

"If he didn't already want you," Fenris whispered, eyes darkening in a way that made Emma's stomach tie itself into a knot. "He does now."

"Danarius?"

"You ignorant girl," he said without a glint of life. He bent further, bringing his lips to her ear. "You gave yourself to him." Emma's eyes widened at the words, her heart skipping more than one beat.

Fenris leaned away and Emma was startled to find a look on his face that she hadn't paired with such a cold whisper. The green eyed elf left her side and disappeared around the corner.

Emma spent the rest of the day cleaning, repeating the garden visit and her exchange between Fenris over and over. What did she say or do that sealed her fate? _What _was to be her fate?

Why did Fenris look at her with such pity?


	5. Don't mistake pity for companionship

Danarius did not ask for Emma once during the next two weeks, which put a bit of ease back into her bones. By the end of the second week, Emma was able to cling to the possibility that Fenris was mistaken. Or that he was just trying to scare her. She had finally stood up to him, spilling the words that had been cramped inside her head since the day she met him. The things Fenris said could have been meant to punish her for speaking freely. He may have wanted to plant the idea in her head and let it rot as she fret. There was nothing other than that thought to occupy her mind. She ached for the collection of books she'd abandoned back in Fereldon. Their tales would squeeze out the unpleasantness and leave only room for mystery and adventure.

"You gave yourself to him."

"No," she answered the voice and angrily ripped the sheets from a bed she was changing. "I did not."

"You did not what?"

Emma choked on a breath, clutching the bedding to her chest. Danarius was stepping into the room, one corner of his mouth lifted into a lopsided smile.

"I did not sleep well," she replied and lowered the sheets back onto the bed. As a matter of fact, sleep had been eluding her all week. The thoughts Fenris filled inside her head left Emma tossing and turning most nights.

Danarius sighed, setting his staff against the wall beside him. "I'm sorry to hear that." He wiped his own tired eyes. "I was just coming up here for an early rest, myself."

"You aren't sleeping well." Emma had noticed that his eyes were red and fiercely exhausted the very first day that she met him.

The graying magister lifted the animal hide from his back, groaning and rolling his shoulders. "No," he confirmed and leaned forward to pull off his leather boots. "I haven't had a proper night's sleep in quite a long time."

"You should sleep consistently," Emma advised while bending to tuck the linen under the mattress.

Danarius lifted his head from the boots. "What do you mean?"

"Go to bed at a certain time every night and rise in exactly eight hours, no matter how much sleep you get." Emma smoothed her hands across the bedding, smiling at the floral padding. "Even if you can't manage a second's unconsciousness."

The man watched her fluff away at his pillows and lay an extra blanket at the foot of the bed. "It's worth a try," he mumbled thoughtfully. He settled behind his desk as Emma finished tidying the chamber. Gathering the used sheets into her arms, she left the room, closing the door behind her.

Fenris was standing just outside. Emma started at his face. He didn't look annoyed or bored, as he usually behaved in her presence. The elf's features were now contorted in fury.

"_What are you doing?_" he hissed.

"Changing the sheets!" Emma whispered indignantly.

Fenris channeled a long breath of air through his nose before replying. "That's not what I mean."

"What _do _you mean?" Emma let out a humorless laugh. Why was it always this way with him? "Stop being so vague."

He stared at her with an expression of disbelief before entering Danarius's chambers.

vVv

"He needs to eat," Tarmaiiel chided, dumping a heaping spoonful of mashed potatoes on the plate that would remain untouched.

Emma bit into a crisp apple and glanced at Fenris. "He doesn't want it," she replied simply. More food for the rest of them. If he was going to be an arrogant git, then so be it. Emma would not feel sorry for him.

"He may not want it," Tarmaiiel pronounced as she arranged a pair of sausages on the plate, "but he needs it. So go and give it to him." She thrust the full plate toward the rogue.

Emma groaned. "Oh, Tarma, _you_ do it."

"_I'm_ busy."

"I'll sort the plates."

"Oh, would you stop being a whiny pup and go feed the man?"

Emma snatched the plate from her hands, glaring all the while. She was going to march over there, offer him the food, watch him decline with disdain, and return back to this very spot. Why should she bother?

The young woman sighed and walked over to the dark corner of the room.

Fenris watched her approach, jaw jumping around a bite of cheese. He raised a dark brow when she extending the plate toward him.

"I don't want that," the man rumbled, as if he had heard her exact words just moments ago.

"You need to eat," Emma repeated Tarmaiiel's words mechanically, unable to conjure her own without weaving in an insult.

Fenris glanced at the piled plate with distaste. "I won't become accustomed to eating a larger amount of food."

Emma had not considered that. With everyone used to consuming this much food each day, a transition back to bread and cheese would be very difficult. She shook the thought from her mind as soon as Fenris placed it there. Everyone was enjoying it now and that's all that mattered.

"It's something to look forward to," Emma spoke, voicing her thoughts.

"It's something to be taken."

Emma sighed in frustration, though she couldn't feel animosity toward him on the subject. He was just being cautious, trained to weigh outcomes at every turn and anticipate change. She understood his reasoning.

"But surely a treat now and then won't be any harm." Emma chose a buttered biscuit from the heap, bringing it under the elf's nose and making him flinch. "Smell that?" She cooed. "That's freshly baked bread, Fenris." He glanced down at the stale bread in his hands. "You don't have to increase the quantity of your food, but you can at least raise the quality."

Fenris growled, snatching the biscuit from her outstretched fingers. "Your persistence is maddening." He ripped off a chunk of biscuit between his teeth and chewed angrily.

Then, his face went blank. Emma watched as his lips slowed their movement and his eyes gently fluttered closed. He grinded the food between his teeth, relishing the texture. The elf pushed the food around his mouth before swallowing it in a quiet gulp.

"Butter," he sighed.

Emma laughed in surprise and Fenris's eyes flew open. His tan cheeks colored as he quickly ate the remains of his biscuit, not stopping to further appreciate its taste.

Emma smirked, leaving the plate on the edge of the table beside him. Just in case. She returned to Tarmaiiel, who was wearing a rather smug expression, hands drying at a clean plate.

"Not a word," Emma warned, still smiling. She grabbed a clay cup to wash and lifted her gaze back to the corner, where the elf no longer stood. The plate remained on the table, a second biscuit missing from its surface.

vVv

Emma was called into Danarius's study the very next day. He motioned for her to sit in front of the fire as soon as she entered. Fenris leaned against a nearby bookshelf, staring fixedly into the flames. The glare of the embers made the elf's eyes gleam brighter than ever.

"Pardon me for asking," Danarius began, drawing Emma's attention, "but are you able to read?"

"Yes," she answered immediately. Her pulse quickened. Why was he asking this? Was he going to give her a book to read? _Don't get ahead of yourself_, she scolded her rampant thoughts. Danarius was probably going to task her with writing letters to other magisters or something of the sort.

Danarius's face lit up at her reply. "I thought so!" he exclaimed and pulled Emma from the chair by her hand. He led her to the oaken door on the other side of the room. He stood before it, eyes bright and smile, wide. Danarius opened the door slowly and gently nudged Emma inside.

Emma let out a breath she hadn't realized she'd been holding. There were books. Everywhere.

Towers of spines lay neatly against the walls. So many were crammed together, they seemed ready to jump from the shelves. A large, cushioned bench sat in the middle of the room, a book open on the end table beside it. Windows, spanning the entire length of the library, were settled between each shelf. It gave the appearance that they sat outside, among rows of books. Emma inhaled the familiar scent of aged parchment. Oh, to sit in this room, to stroke a spine and lift its pages, to learn of a new world. The idea was bliss.

"Well?" Danarius pressed eagerly, eyes intent on her face.

"It's incredible," she answered dreamily. She gazed about the room, drinking in the sight. "It's-how did you obtain so many?"

"I collect," he explained, leading her to a nearby shelf. Danarius passed a hand over the many spines and plucked one from its position. "And I inherited a good many. This book," he paused to stroke its cover. "It's my favorite."

"In this whole room?" Emma marveled.

"Yes."

"That one, in your hand. Out of the thousands."

Danarius laughed softly and pushed the book into her hands. "Take it," he said. "Read it"

Emma peered at its title which read Ears of Time and stared at the magister in awe. Why was he being so kind to her? Did he truly want her? Emma began to wonder if it wouldn't be horrible, being wanted by this man. If being his would mean trips to the library and the gardens, perhaps she should like it very much.

"I don't know what to say," she said, her voice barely over a whisper. "Thank you doesn't seem enough."

"It is enough," the magister promised. He turned to leave the room. "Take any others if you wish. Whenever." Then he was gone, Fenris just behind him.

Emma stood in the room for a long time, staring at the packed shelves. She did not take another book by the time she left. It seemed greedy. Danarius already granted her with so much.

Emma couldn't finish her chores fast enough. The whole time she worked, all she could think about was the book waiting in her chambers. Ears of Time. She wondered at what story could lie within its depths. Perhaps a mage who can manipulate the minutes, pausing them or speeding them along. What kind of book would Danarius select as his favorite? Emma was surprised to find that she was eager to know.

vVv

Emma was yanked to the side upon entering the kitchens and looked up to find Fenris's hand wrapped around her wrist.

"Yes?" she breathed in surprise. Fenris wordlessly dragged her to his corner, where a plate of food sat on the table's edge. The elf lifted the plate and placed it in her hands, removing a cinnamon roll for himself. She stared at him expectantly.

"You don't know Danarius," Fenris started, keeping his voice a low rumble. He peeled off a layer of the roll. "He's not the man you see."

Emma sighed. "I can't be passive with him when he's only shown me kindness."

Fenris picked at the flecks of cinnamon, licking his fingertips. "Just be wary of the side he's hiding. It's still there."

Emma popped a berry in her mouth, chewing in thought. Was it a bad thing, that Danarius was different around her? Perhaps Emma softened his edges. Perhaps she would change him, like in a novel. The cold beast that becomes a warm prince. Her cheeks warmed at the thought.

Speaking of different. When did Fenris stop ignoring her?

Emma eyed him suspiciously. Always trailing behind the magister and warning her away. Perhaps Fenris wanted Danarius all to himself. Perhaps he was jealous with the attention Emma was getting.

"Why are you staring at me like that?"

"Oh, nothing."

vVv

Emma stood on her tip toes to retrieve the candles from atop her cupboard. Whoever gifted her the candles made certain to keep them lit before dark crept inside her room. She laid them down beside her cot and settled into its thin sheet. Emma pulled Danarius's book out from under her pillow, stroking the spine. Opening its pages, she leaned into the parchment and inhaled the dusty, unmistakable smell. With the ritual complete, Emma began to purge the book of its secrets, her heart racing in anticipation.

The book was thrilling, violent, and very romantic. Emma finished it that same night, unable to stop turning the pages. The story told of a mage who couldn't cast a single spell and grew to be the very man who saved his world from a dark force through the reciting of one simple incantation he finally mastered; the Ears of Time. By the end of the book, her eyes were drooping closed, carrying the tale's weight.

She sank into the sheets and slept deeply, not a single unpleasant thought buzzing in her head.

vVv

Emma sped into the Danarius's study, dusting away at decor and any surface. As soon as she'd finished, Emma would race into the library and pluck a book from Danarius's wealth, returning the one she'd previously borrowed. She was more than content, having carried on in this habit for a week.

At first, the number of books overwhelmed her. She would read the first page of one book, comparing it to the page of another book and repeat the process until she couldn't possibly decide among them. Emma had then resolved to close her eyes and select a book at random, without reading the first page. Later, when she crawled into bed that night, the story would take her completely by surprise.

The only thing that stunted her contentment was Fenris. He had reverted back to his old ways, ignoring her _as well_ as glaring. Emma had enjoyed their small exchanges, cold as he was. She felt they were moving, albeit slowly, in the direction of acquaintanceship. Or at the very least, not enemies. But when she smiled at him in the kitchens the day after borrowing her first book, he looked back at her in his usual disgust.

Emma pondered the sad change while she wiped at an elaborate vase containing flowers. She heard a rustling behind her and turned to find its source. Fenris was at Danarius's desk, pawing through the books in deep concentration.  
"Fenris," Emma regarded before turning back to her dusting.

She was surprised to hear his reply. "Emma." His voice was gruff, but otherwise unannoyed.

Encouraged, Emma stepped toward him. "What are you doing?"

"Danarius sent me to retrieve this," he answered tonelessly, lifting up a thin, green book. He strode toward the door without so much as a glance in her direction.

"Wait!" Emma exclaimed, not entirely sure what she meant him to wait _for_.

All the same, Fenris stopped in the doorway, inclining his head toward her.

She stepped closer, tightly gripping the cloth in her hands. "Why don't we eat together again tonight? And talk? About things." Emma felt her cheeks redden.

Fenris turned the rest of the way around and set his cold gaze on her face.

"I sought you out once," he spoke quietly. "to warn you. It wasn't an invitation for further interaction between us."

"Why not?" Emma frowned.

"Because I despise you. I don't like a single thing about you." His eyes narrowed as he continued, voice growing rougher. "You sicken me."

Emma wanted to ask why, but couldn't form the words on her tongue. She was speechless.

"I don't want harm to befall you, nor anyone else."

Fenris left the room after leaving her with a final sentiment:

"Don't mistake pity for companionship."


	6. Do you want to talk about it?

Emma reached a hand high over her head, extending on her toes. A book just beyond her grasp sat on the shelf above. If she could just- her fingers brushed the book's edge. She jumped and managed to wrap two fingers around the book's spine, but they slipped. Emma tried again. And again. Once more…

The book's spine looked so _interesting. _It gleamed a bright green with an odd, almost watery material. The sight reminded her of the stained glass that hugged Ferelden's chantry walls. She was so curious to uncover what was inside its pages. Emma turned with a small groan, ready to admit defeat, and found a pair of eyes, the same color as the book above.

Fenris's lips were set in that infuriating smirk as he stood a mere two feet away from her. Emma leaned back against the books, trying to create even the smallest increase of distance between them.

"I don't understand you at all," she spoke quietly. "Why do you hate me? You don't know me. We've never met."

The muscles around Fenris's jaw tightened as he clenched his teeth. He took a single step forward, closing the space between them. Emma's heart did a flip, trying to escape the confines of her chest. She didn't like him so near. He smelled like salt and mint leaves. She didn't hate it.

"You smell like death," Fenris murmured, expression taut.

"I haven't bathed since I arrived," she hissed defensively, turning her face away in embarrassment. "Of course I don't smell min- good."

Fenris stretched an arm above their heads, eyes never leaving Emma's face. He brought the bright green book under her nose, smirk returning to his lips. Emma's fingers curled around the book. Grudgingly. She did not want to accept any favors from someone so bent on being cruel to her. Nevertheless, she whispered a hasty thank you and darted out of the library.

_I don't understand him at all_. One minute, he was proclaiming his undying hatred to Emma, telling her she smelled rancid, that she was ignorant. And the next, he was reaching for a book she wanted, rushing to her aid when she choked, and warning her away from dangerous men.

"_I don't want harm to befall you, nor anyone else."_

_He still hates you_, Emma reminded herself. _He just doesn't want you to die. _But then…

What death would have claimed her if she had not been given the book? The gesture was not necessary for her health. Emma quickened her steps to the kitchens, stiflingly the urge to groan and drag her feet. She did _not _understand him at all.

vVv

Emma was late in assisting Tarma with supper. Arathea, the elf who had served wine to Emma and Danarius, stood in her place. When Emma approached, Arathea smiled and relinquished the plates to her.

"Where were you?" Arathea asked curiously. Emma pulled the book from her robes and the elven woman's blue eyes widened in surprise. "You can read that?"

"Yes," Emma answered with a sheepish smile.

Arathea's face flashed with something hungry and eager. "What's it about, then?"

"Oh!" Emma blushed and glanced at Tarma, who was inclining an ear while cutting pear tomatoes into bite sized pieces. "I don't know, I haven't started yet."  
Arathea narrowed her eyes in suspicion.

Emma sighed and opened the book, reading the first sentence aloud. "It is with great displeasure that I recount this story of three ill fated lovers." Three? Emma eyes began darting to the next sentence and the next after that, but she snapped the book shut before curiosity could claim her entirely. When her gaze returned to Arathea, she was startled to find that the elf was bouncing on her heels.

"Oh, you _must_ tell me what happens," she cried pleadingly, hands clasped in front of her.

Emma let out a laugh. "Yes, alright."

Arathea squealed in delight and skipped away to her companions.

"You just landed yourself into a mess of trouble, child."

Emma smiled and grabbed a pear tomato to cut. "I'm rather happy to talk about it. It's more fun to read books when you can discuss them."

"Yes, well," Tarma winked. "Once Thea gets to the rest of the lot, you'll be discussin' more than breathin'. Pass me the mint leaves, will you? For the water."

Emma absently grabbed at the bushel of mint to her right and was instantly overcome with the thought of Fenris. Why does _he_ smell so good?

"Tarma?"

"Mm?"

"Do we bathe?"

Tarma looked up at her in surprise. "Yes, of course child. Once a month. Any less than that and we'd stink up the house."

"Can we bathe...more often?"

"Whatever for?"

"I smell like death."

Tarma laughed and leaned in to Emma, inhaling a breath of her hair. "I'd say sick," she corrected with a teasing grin, "and perhaps on the way to death."

"Tarma!" Emma whined, burying her face in her hands. "That's so embarrassing!"

"Oh, hush," Tarma set back to arranging cheese rolls on the plates. "I promise you that none of us will notice. We all smell just the same."

"Fenris doesn't," Emma muttered indignantly, glancing at the mint leaves. "And he noticed."  
"Speaking of Fenris, why don't you deliver this to him?" Tarma pushed a small plate of steaming cheese rolls into her hands.

Emma frowned and thrust the plate back toward the older woman. "I wouldn't want to spoil his appetite with my stench."

"Stop behaving like a squabbling kit and give the man his cheese rolls."

The young woman glared with a fierce intensity that was entirely lost on Tarma. She then walked briskly to the far side of the room, into the corner from which dwelled the brooding elf. Fenris was eyeing her expectantly as she approached with his food. He reached out a hand to accept it, lip curling into another blasted smirk.

That was it. Emma couldn't take anymore of that stupid, revolting, bone curdling, smirking mouth anymore. She grabbed at Fenris's arm and thrust a hot roll into his mouth as it opened in protest. His eyes flashed dangerously as he leapt from the wall, making Emma gasp and wheel on her feet to flea. Fenris cursed in a foreign tongue, reaching a hand out to seize a fist full of Emma's retreating locks. She cried out, her scalp stinging sharply as she was tugged by the hair toward his body.

"Sto-" As her mouth opened around the word, cheesy bread was pushed inside. She coughed and swallowed a hunk of bread, choking and sputtering. Emma stared at him as she hacked away, meeting his vehement stare with one of her own.

"Why do you never chew?" Fenris snarled, pounding her back with a clenched fist. His other hand left her hair and brought a cup of water to her lips. Emma eagerly guzzled and the water immediately set to pushing the food down the rest of its path. The two stood before each other, eyes wild with anger, chests heaving.

"You _never _touch my hair-"

"_You _never touch _mine_."

"You did it first!"

"You shoved food into my mouth."

"_Anything_ to rid the world of that smirk!"

"What 'smirk'?"

"Oh, you know very well what smirk-"

"I am not aware of my reactions to your presence. I cannot stop them."

"Try!"

They glared at each other in silence, fists clenched to keep from hurling them into the other's face.

Suddenly, the room exploded. Fenris and Emma started at the sudden noise, turning to discover every elf in the room doubled over in laughter. Tarma was wheezing at the head of the table, both hands against its surface for support. Arathea was clenching the arm of an elf at her side to keep from falling over, her shoulders quaking viciously. The gardening boys were on the floor, knees having buckled in their laughter. Many of the younger elves were giggling and cramming cheese rolls into each other's mouths, prolonging the adults' hysterics.

Emma blushed and stole a quick glance at Fenris. He was already staring at her, lips pressed shut into a thin line, eyes tight. His face was covered in breadcrumbs and smeared with cheese, his hair, disheveled. Emma brought a fist to her mouth, choking back a wave of giggles. She raced to grab her book and escape the room as the laughter bubbled higher and higher in her chest. She burst into the hall just as the hysterics fled her lips and she slouched against the wall, laughing until her head ached and her stomach cramped. Knees weak, she stumbled to her chambers.

vVv

Emma was eager to get to the kitchens the next day. She spent the entire morning thinking about her book. It was so romantic and thrilling! A trio, all equally in love, embarked on a journey that tested the boundaries of their unique arrangement, facing obstacles like jealousy and judgement and, of course, darkspawn. Emma couldn't wait to tell Tarma and Arathea of the story, hoping that they would find it as intriguing as she did.

Emma was hurrying through the corridors, a neat stack of bed sheets in her arms. She was just rounding a corner when she saw the scene and nearly dropped the load in shock.

Danarius and Fenris. Fenris, back against the wall. Danarius, face flushed, and lips pressed against the other man's tan neck. Danarius trailed an arm around Fenris's waist, pulling the elf closer to his body. Emma watched with wide eyes, unable to move. Her face caught fire as Danarius began rolling his hips against Fenris's thigh. The elf's features were strained, eyes staring unseeingly at the painting that rested on the far wall. His body was rigid, but he did not stop the other man's advances, arms limp at his sides. Emma took a careful step back and prayed not to be noticed by the pair. When her heel met the rug, however, Fenris's eyes flashed to hers. His face contorted in disgust, which quickly turned tight with anger. Danarius trailed wet kisses along his jaw, completely unaware of Emma's presence. Fenris glanced meaningfully to the corridor from whence Emma came. The young woman nodded her understanding, dazed, and quietly fled the hall.

When she was far enough away, Emma dropped the sheets to the floor and rested against the wall. She brought a quaking finger to her lips and attempted to process what she had just witnessed. Danarius and Fenris? Together? Were they lovers? Of course, Emma marveled. That's why Fenris hated her so. She was stealing his love's attention. Everything made sense now. Emma had guessed it before, but never actually believed it to be the true reason behind his disapproval.

All Emma would need to do is assure Fenris that she did not seek Danarius in any way at all, and then he would stop hating her. She nodded slowly to herself, head still swimming with images of the two men together. She would tell him tonight.

vVv

Emma's feet carried her to the kitchens and she mechanically arranged the plates with Tarma. Arathea bounced over to inquire about the book, but Emma distractically lied that she had not yet read any of it. Disappointed, Arathea made her promise to read some soon. Emma automatically agreed, staring at the empty corner in the back of the room. She was slicing cheese into thin strips to go over the pasta when he entered. Emma stared dazedly as Fenris shuffled into the corner and cried out as she cut her thumb.

"Watch what you're doing!" Tarma scolded, grabbing her hand to examine the wound.

"It's fine," Emma assured her. Tarma fussed anyway, bringing a wet cloth to her thumb to soak up the blood that oozed from it. She bandaged her digit with a strip from the same cloth and insisted on taking over the task of slicing. Emma agreed with a nod of her head and grabbed two cinnamon rolls from the pile.

"I'll take these to Fenris," she mumbled quickly, not noticing Tarma's look of bewilderment.

Emma stumbled over to the darkened corner where Fenris leaned against the wall, head ducked as he traced the white lines of his arm with a finger.

"Hey," Emma murmurred.

Fenris lifted his head and stared at her with his usual coldness. He waited, either for her to speak or for her to give him the rolls, Emma wasn't sure. She did both.

"About earlier," she started, cheeks reddening as she brought the rolls to his outstretched fingers. "In the corridor. You and Danarius."

Fenris didn't take a bite of a roll and instead set the pair of them down on the edge of the table. He pushed away from the wall and stood before Emma, casting a shadow over her blushing face.

"Yes?" he whispered, eyes hardening as they met with hers.

"I just wanted to say," Emma glanced nervously at the abandoned rolls.

"That?" Fenris's voice was dangerously low, a sharp edge creeping into the word.

"I don't love him. I'm not trying to...take him for myself...or anything...so…"

"So?"

"I'm sorry for worrying you. He's all yours."

Emma yelped as Fenris's hand darted out to curl its fingers around her wrist. He pulled her out of the kitchens and into the empty hallway. Fenris shoved Emma against the wall, face twisted into pure rage. The young woman winced as his fist met with the wall beside her face. He leaned down painfully slowly, his lips almost touching the rim of her ear.

"I," Fenris growled, elongating the word and sending shivers down Emma's spine. "Hate. Danarius."

His hand curled around her cheeks and he forced her down-turned face up to meet his blazing eyes. "I want that man dead."

"Oh." Emma's answer was muffled around her cheeks.

"Yes. 'Oh'." Fenris shoved her face before removing his hand, which he then ran angrily through his hair. "I was humiliated enough without you…I can't believe…" He growled and turned, bringing his arm back and thrusting it forward with brute force against the wall. Emma saw blood speckled against its surface when he drew his clenched fist away.

"Fenris," she whispered.

"What you saw," he spoke roughly, facing away from her, "that's what will happen to you. He likes you. I tried to warn…" Fenris punched the wall again, harder this time, carving a small dent in it. Emma stared at his shaking back.

"Fenris."

"_What?_" he hissed, whirling around to fix a glare on her.

"Do you want to talk about it?"

"No, I don't want to talk about it!" he snapped. Emma reached out a hand, her fingers brushing his tight fists. Fenris recoiled, eyes wild with something Emma couldn't recognize immediately. Fear?

"Fenris."

Fenris turned away, not casting another glance in the woman's direction, and walked slowly down the corridor. His shoulders slumped in defeat.


	7. He's Kind

vVv

Fenris stood stiffly in Emma's doorway. He stared at a tuft of dust that had collected in the far corner, eyes stony and concentrated. Emma knew what he was there for and rose from her bed with a terrible sinking feeling in her chest.

"I'll be right there."

Fenris immediately shut the door, leaving her to dress. Emma's fingers trembled as she pulled at the robe's opening and tucked herself inside.

Emma had been dreading this day for a long time. The day that Danarius would call her to his study. She would have to smile and chat lightly, as she did before last week. Like nothing had occurred at all. The thought churned the remnants of last night's meal. Was she even perhaps a little disappointed? Had she begun to feel the tiniest bit of something for Danarius in return? Emma couldn't be sure. It was all very confusing, the past several weeks.

Emma opened the door slowly, desperately hoping for Fenris to be waiting on the other side. He wasn't. Of course he wasn't.

Fenris hadn't uttered a single word to Emma since that night in the dim corridor, not even to say _mean _things to her. The only interaction she shared with Fenris was the single nod he warranted when she delivered his small meals. Emma always lingered during these exchanges, going as far as to prolong the extension of her arm as she handed Fenris his bread. She felt helpless, knowing that her accusation is what silenced him. If she had simply kept her ignorant, childish mouth shut and retained her nose away from where it didn't belong, perhaps the elf would have continued to torment her.

Emma paused her steps on the stairs, gazing out the small tower window overlooking the sea. Why was she not rejoicing in the absence of his infuriating presence? All week, she had been mourning the loss of his attention and praying that he would soon acknowledge her again. With a gasp of horror, Emma realized that she wanted nothing more than to see that condescending smirk on his face. It's the guilt, she informed her staggering heart. Guilt _does_ things to a person.

When Emma reached the study, she hesitated after her fingers had wrapped around the the door's knob. She inhaled deeply through her nose and exhaled slowly past her parted lips, releasing the bad thoughts that crowded her mind. _Go inside, _she commanded her rigid body. _Go inside and wear a convincing smile_.

Emma allowed a small smile to open her face and dragged her unwilling self into the magister's lair.

Fenris was stationed in front of the hearth, his eyes briefly flitting to Emma as she entered before returning to the adjacent cushioned chair. Emma positioned herself quietly by the door, waiting for Danarius to offer her a spot before the fire. She watched curiously as the man sat at his large oak desk, hunched over a scroll of parchment. He lifted his head to meet her gaze and smiled, curling an unoccupied finger in her direction.

"Come, Emma."

She automatically shuffled to Danarius's side, ignoring the rising hairs at the base of her neck upon hearing the man's thin lips shape her name.

Emma watched his quill quiver around the words he formed and read the first few lines. It sounded like some sort of invitation letter, but she couldn't be certain. It was very informal for an invitation. Emma's eyes glanced at Fenris without asking her brain's permission. The elf remained like an ancient statue, his eyes still trained consumedly on the chair.

Danarius sighed heavily and dropped his quill on the still wet parchment, smearing it a little. He shook his hand to work out the writing cramps and gathered a large stack of parchment together. The magister pulled a burning candle near the stack, as well as the family seal. He then slowly rose from his chair, groaning as his bones creaked in protest. Stretching and rolling his shoulders, Danarius passed Emma a confident grin.

"Hello."

"Hello, master."

"Oh, don't start calling me that _now_," he laughed. "Danarius will do, since you insist on removing my proper title."

"Danarius then."

Danarius's smile widened and he clasped his hands together, eyeing the array of items he gathered. He picked up the smudged letter he had been writing. "This," he explained, placing it in Emma's hands, "is an invitation. You will use this as a template and copy from it. Those," he waved a hand at the stack of parchment, "are what you'll write them on. Ahm…" Danarius lifted a sheet of parchment from the desk, bringing a finger down a long list of names. "These are the people I want to come, with their corresponding locations." He grabbed the desk's chair with one hand and gestured for her to sit with the other. While Emma settled in, Danarius looked up at Fenris.

"Ah, Fenris?"

Fenris inclined his head, eyes ripping from the chair to his magister's face. "Yes, master?" his voice was a low rumble. Emma's lips curved higher to finally hear the rare sound.

"Would you fetch me my staff and wait at the gate?"

Fenris lowered his head in a small bow before striding out of the room.

"Now," Danarius continued as the echo of the closed door reverberated throughout the room. Emma suddenly felt very uncomfortable, noting that Fenris's presence made all the difference in the world. She could sense that Danarius was closer, his voice near and quiet. "One letter per guest. You will spend the day in this manner and be excused from your other duties." Emma flinched when his chest met her back, pressing harder as he leaned across the desk to snag a bottle of ink. "Should be enough," he grunted, wagging the ink bottle this way and that. Emma gulped as he lingered to smell her hair, inhaling deeply. Her face heated when he let out a teasing cough, no doubt in response to her odor.

"Tell you what," he croaked, patting her shoulder with one hand as he withdrew away. "Second floor, third door at the end of the hall. It's one of the guest bathrooms. Please, suit yourself to a soak whenever the time strikes you. Or sooner."

"Truly?" Emma cried, turning to search his eyes for sincerity.

"Yes," Danarius's teasing smile turned warm like butter melting on hot bread. "To show my thanks for today and for your advice in regards to my sleep."

"Did it work?" Emma asked curiously, just noticing his livened eyes, devoid of any dark pigmentation.

"Quite well," he grinned. "And I have you to thank. So treat yourself to a bath." He laughed cheerfully at that, patting her shoulder once more, before leaving the room in a flourish of robes and smiles.

"He's kind," Emma whispered thoughtfully, staring at the closed door.

_No_, her mind insisted with a fierce firmness, sounding suspiciously similar to a certain green eyed elf, _he struck you with a bolt of magic within the first five minutes of meeting you. He forces himself on Fenris. He has _slaves,_ woman! _

"He brought me to the gardens, he let me read books, he's making sure I'm fed and clean, asking me to call him by his name."

_He's just trying to ensnare you in his web so he can suck your blood dry. You ignorant girl!_

Emma sighed and set to work on the invitations. She vaguely wondered what sort of event Danarius was hosting, but the thought was quickly emptied from her mind and replaced with hot water, gentle lathers, and sparkling suds. All she could focus on was the heavenly soak that awaited her at the day's end. No more grime, no more stench of expiration, no more sweat and dust! Emma couldn't wait to feel the luxurious soaps enter her pores and wash away her many weeks of labor. To feel fresh again and completely _new_, oh...her fingers clenched at the quill anxiously, trying to hurry her strokes along.

She worked quickly, though carefully, only spilling the ink once in her vast excitement. To ease the nerves that bundled in happy anxiety within her chest, she hummed a favorite fereldon folk song. The one that goes, "_And then we all go running, down the open road, with you and all my brothers, your wife will never know_." It was a song of debauchery and brotherhood that her brother, Carver, would often sing. The family always laughed when they caught him bellowing the lyrics, the song so contrasted his stern character.

Emma grabbed the list for its next guest to invite and realized that she had just completed the very last one. She moaned with a smile and stretched in her seat. Her fingers were aching and smeared with ink and hardened wax, her back sore and tired. But the reward of a guaranteed access to cleanliness eliminated all discomfort. Emma quickly assorted the invitations into a neat pile, wiping at her mess with the worn rag she kept at hand for such occasions. When the desk was tidied to her satisfaction, she leapt from her seat and rushed to join the servants downstairs for supper.

The young woman burst into the kitchens, closed smile still planted lazily across her face.

"There you are!" cried Tarma, bustling forward and wiping her strawberry stained fingertips on her robes. The elf grabbed Emma's hands and pulled her arms this way and that, examining her wrists and pulling up at the sleeves. "Are you alright?" she asked hurriedly, turning the human's face from left to right and back again. "Where were you?"

"Danarius wanted-"

Tarma's eyes grew wide with fear and she tugged anxiously at Emma's robes. "What did he want- are you alright?"

"Yes!" Emma pulled Tarma's hands away with her own, taken aback by the older woman's behavior. "I was just in the study-"

"Nobody saw you in the halls, we were all so worried! You disappeared!"

"-writing out invitations for something Danarius is holding here…"

Emma glanced nervously about the room. Everyone was silent, wide-eyes trained on her face, gauging her every movement as if they expected her to combust.

"What is this all about?" Emma asked Tarma hushedly. "Fenris knew where I was. He didn't say?"

Tarma was holding a hand to her chest, closing her eyes in what appeared to be relief. She reached up a hand and slapped Emma's cheek, tears rimming her milky eyes. "You tell one of us," her voice quavered around her words. "or we'll think the worst." Emma stared at the woman in bewilderment.

"What is 'the worst'? I don't leave the castle."

"She's safe, Tarma," Arathea appeared from the gathered crowd. "Like I was telling you earlier. Emma's one of them."

"Yes, but..." Tarma pushed a stray lock of Emma's hair behind her ear. She closed her eyes again and sighed shakily, tracing a finger along Emma's stinging cheek.

Tarma opened her eyes with a weak smile and pulled Emma to the front of the room, thrusting a hefty plate into the girl's hands. The room began to fill with voices again, like the bizarre display had never taken place. Emma eyed Tarma warily, noticing her fingers quake as she prepared Emma a cup of water and mint leaves.

"Tarma…," Emma whispered, brimming with confusion and concern, "just what did you think happened to me?"

Tarma froze, fingers stilled from their fussing with the mint leaves. "I'm an old woman," she replied as she continued dropping mint leaves into the wooden cup. "I worry. I'm sorry I scared you, child. As I said when you started out, we are not treated with kindness." Her head rose from her task to search Emma's face. "We are slaves, Emma."

The younger woman nodded, unsure of how else to respond to such statements. She was curious and fearful, but knew that now was not the time to discuss the matter, with Tarma's nerves as they were. Emma decided to instead change the subject. "Where's Fenris?" she inquired lightly, glancing at the empty corner.

"He didn't come down for dinner tonight," Tarma replied passing the cup into Emma's open hands. "Of course, _he _told one of us." She fixed Emma with a stern frown, setting everything right with her downturned lips. Emma laughed and it freed the anxiety that had been trapped in her chest.

"I'm new, be kind to me." She took a sip of her water and began tucking into her meal.

vVv

_Oh, Andraste's firm arse, it's finally here._ Emma raced down the corridors, feet slapping loudly against the marble and thudding against the rugs. She could see the door she had spent the entire day dreaming of. It was more beautiful that she could have possibly imagined. Emma's legs quickened their strides into a frenzied pace, pumping muscles practically reaching for the knob themselves. _Oh, blazes, I think I'm going to cry. _She didn't hesitate when her fingers met the silver knob, and rather wrenched it open with a hungry force. Emma hurled her body inside and slammed the door with finality behind her.

The bath was already _heated_, for Andraste's sake. The steam hit her face and instantly began cleansing her skin, as if the room was just as eager to rid her body of dirt as she was. She sighed, not stopping to glance about the bright chamber. She could smell the minty lathers that hung in the air, so ready to rub them into every single nook and cranny of her body.

Emma peeled off her wet clothes with greater speed than an anxious virgin in a Ferelden brothel. She moaned as the hot steam enveloped her naked skin. Emma had not been fully naked since she arrived, and the complete exposure to soapy air was liberating. The room was very large and white, the tub stretching across most of its space. Heaping piles of bubbles floated around on the water's surface, inviting Emma to delve into their crackling song.

She stepped quickly to the bath's edge and didn't bother dipping a single toe into the scorching water before plunging both her legs in. Emma cried out, as much in pleasure as she was in pain. She stood for a moment in bliss, appreciating the hot water that reached her thighs. Emma cupped water into her hands and slowly poured it down her front to become more acclimated with the temperature before she buried herself beneath. She wiped the soapy water across her stomach and shakily breathed in the scented air. Her hands snaked the length of her arms, around her breasts, across her neck. All the while, she sighed in complete relaxed contentment, slowing each touch to make it last as long as possible.

Finally, Emma sank beneath the water's gentle folds, letting the minty bubbles surround her. She closed her eyes and leaned against the wall, whimpering in total bliss every other minute. The feeling was inexplicable. Emma had not realized how badly she needed the bath, for more than just matters of appearance. She needed the bath in an intimate, psychological way. After so much confusion, so much stress, she needed a steamy soak to cleanse her mind just as thoroughly as her body. Embarking on a new life, meeting new people, and the _work_. Oh…the stress was removed along with the grime.

Emma opened her eyes, ready to formally wash her body and leave her oasis. As much as she would have liked to remain forever, her head was beginning to swim with dizziness.

She searched the room carefully for the soaps and lathers and found them set in a corner of the adjacent wall. Along with something else.

A piercing shriek broke free from Emma's lips and she dove back into the water, face heating beyond safe temperatures.

Fenris sat, body submerged up to his chest, wincing at the sudden sound as it echoed against the tiled walls.

vVv


	8. Why are you here?

vVv

"No," Emma whispered, hands clenched into fists over her eyes. She didn't move an inch, not wanting to disturb the bubbles that covered her naked skin. "You've ruined everything."

Fenris's glare faltered at her sudden accusation. "What?" he asked with a furrowed brow.

"I was so…," Emma dropped her hands from her face and scowled at the elf, "content. So at peace." She groaned and rolled her head up toward the mirrored ceiling. "How did I not hear you enter? I must have been half asleep. You should have left when you saw that the bath was occupied."

Emma flinched as Fenris's rumbling laugh filled the room. She looked up at him in surprise to find him covering his smiling mouth with one tanned hand.

Fenris mistakenly glanced at her bewildered face and was forcefully sent into another wave of laughter. Now it was Emma's turn to feel confused.

"What?" she snapped, only making the elf laugh harder. If she wasn't so preoccupied with being confused and annoyed, Emma would have stopped to appreciate the sound of Fenris's laugh. It sounded like a distant thunder, rolling and crackling inside the sky.

Fenris finally recovered himself, lazily resting each of his arms along the bath's edge. Emma couldn't help but notice their immaculate shape, lean and chiseled into deadly weapons. The mysterious marks that graced the length of each arm were beautiful, framing the masterpiece.

"Why are you here?" Fenris asked abruptly, ripping Emma from her ogling.

"Danarius gave me permission just after you left-"

"No," Fenris interrupted slowly, "I assumed as such. Why are you here at all? You can read and write sophisticatedly, you are unaccustomed to being hungry or going without a bath. You are entirely unsubmissive to your superiors." Fenris rested his head against the wall, gazing at her from beneath full, black lashes. "You are not of the low class. You may even be of nobler blood than Danarius."

"I volunteered," Emma said swiftly, wiping her face of emotion. "You know that."

Fenris pulled both of his arms from their relaxed position along the bath's edge. He slipped them into the water, blinking at the heat, and smiled coldly.

"What is your motivation?" he purred with a dark menace that made Emma's toes curl. "To learn magic from Danarius? To become his lover? Do you seek power? Riches? Fame?"

"Avert your eyes," Emma spoke quietly. "I'm getting out."

Fenris chuckled, eyes darkening. "Why? I've already seen."

Praying that she misheard, Emma took a deep breath before letting out a small, "What?" The young woman knew that she should have been concerned over her non beating heart, but hearing what Fenris had to say next was far more important. _He couldn't have, that would be so..._

"I was here from the start, Emma. I believed you to be aware of my presence, at first. That you were trying to put on some sort of ridiculous show with your incessant moaning."

_...dreadful._

"_Why did you not say something_?" Emma's shrill cry was hardly adequate enough to convey the true depths of her despair.

The elf merely adopted that loathsome smirk of his, relishing in her humiliation. "I couldn't possibly interrupt."

"This is revenge, isn't it?" Emma shifted beneath the bubbles, inching toward the bath's entrance, eyes trained on his. Andraste's tits, why had she not brought a towel? Her robes were just by the door, she would have to jump out and run for it.

"For?" Fenris's face grew serious, anticipating her next words.

"For humiliating you," Emma mumbled, her foot meeting the bottom stair of the bath's entrance. "For believing you and Danarius to be lovers."

Fenris looked away sharply, his head facing the opposite wall. Emma wasn't sure if this was out of anger or courtesy. Perhaps both.

Nevertheless, Emma took the opportunity to quickly climb the steps and run for her robes.

This was a very poor decision.

The room was slippery from the collection of water and wandering soap suds and in Emma's eagerness to cover her modesty, she slipped on a particularly lathered portion of tile. She slid on her heel for a moment before crashing into a heap on the hard surface. Emma could hear an abrupt splash behind her, no doubt Fenris rising to inspect the damage. Naked Fenris on his way to examine Emma's equally naked body.

"I'm fine," Emma blurted, scrambling to her feet, face so hot that the steam felt cool against it. "Pardon the intrusion, I truly didn't know you were…" She winced at the clumsy words and carefully gathered her robes, pulling them quickly onto her body, underclothes clenched in her hands. She whimpered at a hot pain in the hip that had struck the floor, pulling the door open and stumbling into the hall. Emma could feel Fenris's stare on her back as she closed the bathroom door.

vVv

Emma was lying in bed, valiantly attempting to erase the horrors of the night through reading a book, when a gentle knock sounded at her door. She prayed to anyone listening that neither Fenris nor Danarius required her attention for any portion of the night. Not now. Emma rose carefully and grimaced as the sharp pain shot through her side. She waddled to the door and opened it slowly, peering into the dim hallway.

"It's me," chirped a Dalish accent.

"Tarma," Emma sighed with relief, pulling the door wider, "What is it?"

The older woman nudged her way past Emma and into the candlelit room. She glanced about for a bit before turning purposefully to Emma. "Fenris told me you took a nasty fall," Tarma explained with worried eyes. She pulled bandages and salve from her robes. "Let me take a look."

Emma closed the door and met Tarma's outstretched hand that tugged at her robes. Emma helped the woman take them off, wincing at the needles that plucked her skin as she did.

Tarma tutted at what she found and directed Emma to lay down on the bed, who did so slowly, careful not to disturb the muscles around her hip.

The older woman knelt before the bed and prodded at the injury, eliciting a sharp breath from Emma.

"Terrible bruising," Tarma sighed, opening the salve and dipping a finger inside its encasing. "Do be more careful."

"Handy that we have salves, though."

"Mm," Tarma gently spread the medicine across Emma's hip, hushing the flames there. Once the thick paste covered every dark pigment, Tarma's fingers began to unwrap at the bandage. "Lift your right leg." Emma winced and pulled her leg off the mattress. "You should know that Fenris provided this salve. He smuggled it from the master's apothecary." Tarma binded the bandages around Emma's leg and waist slowly, lips pulled into a concentrated from.

"He did what?"

"When such an occasion occurs, if possible, Fenris supplies us with medicines."

Emma blinked in surprise. "How kind of him."

"Yes," Tarma replied, tucking the bandage end inside its folds. "You'll find that he is very kind, once you can see past that sharp exterior."

"I've seen glimpses, I suppose." Emma started at Tarma's teasing smile, quickly adding, "Brief glimpses! That completely inexcuse his disposition."

"Of course," Tarma said, raising her hands in an unarmed manner. She gathered the remaining bandages and rose from her bent knees. "You should also know," Tarma cooed, eyes twinkling as she stepped backwards toward the door. "Fenris had burst into my chambers after the incident, hair dripping wet and wearing only his underclothes. He put the salve and bandages in my hands and said- 'That stupid girl just nearly broke her pathetic neck!' He dragged me to your chambers, knocked on the door, and left me to fixin' you." Tarma laughed softly, shaking her head. "The way he carried on, I thought you'd be half-way dead when I found you. Scared me half-way to death myself!"

Emma was so startled by Fenris's apparent reaction that she couldn't conjure a single word in reply. She watched Tarma leave with wide eyes and immediately fell back onto her mattress upon the door's closing.

In all her years, Emma had never encountered anyone so utterly confusing. Fenris's behavior in regards to her was so inconsistent. He would say one thing and follow it with actions that wholly contradicted the words. He would say he hates her with a passion and then indirectly nurse her wounds. Fenris acted like a man in love with his rival. Was it possible…?

_"I don't want harm to befall you, nor anyone else."_

Did Emma want to believe that he was entirely concerned for her as individual? That he acted out of specific need for her particular well-being? That he cared.

"_I don't want harm to befall _you._ You_…"

Yes, she did.

Emma closed her eyes at the thought, the throbbing in her heart as painful as the throbbing in her side.

vVv

"Ah, Emma." Danarius set down a thick stack of parchment upon his desk and smiled at her entry. He sat at his desk, buried in paper and books.

Emma leaned uncomfortably on her uninjured leg. "Danarius," she greeted.

"Do sit," Danarius invited with a wave of his hand, inking a feathered quill.

Emma hobbled over to the couch, hoping the walk appeared no more clumsy than her usual gait. She did not want Danarius to worry over her injury and discover that Fenris had smuggled medicine. Settling into the couch, she repressed a sigh of relief as the weight was removed her leg. Doing chores all morning had been a horrid affair.

"How was the bath?" the magister asked distractedly, scribbling away.

Emma frowned. "How did you know I bathed?"

"I couldn't smell your arrival," he teased. Danarius glanced up at the seated girl before dropping his eyes back to the parchment. "And you look beautiful. More so than I've ever seen you."

She blushed at his bold words, staring at the fire for an occupation. Emma had avoided looking at Fenris since the moment she entered, unwilling to meet his intense gaze. The very gaze that scrutinized her filthy body. Emma blushed harder.

"The letters were perfect," Danarius stated matter-of-factly. He dropped his quill into the ink bottle and carefully folded the parchment. "So perfect and well managed, that rewarding you with access to a bloody bathroom seemed a great insult to your labor." Lifting a lit candle from its perch, he poured a splotch of wax atop the folded parchment and swiftly branded it with the family seal. "So," Danarius retrieved the quill and scribbled something on the letter's front. "I present you with this," He rose from the desk, letter in hand. He settled into the cushion beside Emma and dropped the letter in her lap with a lopsided grin.

Emma stared at him questioningly before gathering the letter in her hands. Its face read _Emma _ in big, curly characters. She gingerly opened the wax sealing and unfolded the parchment. Emma read the first line and gasped.

_Dear Friend, _

_I am hosting a grand ball this full moon and pray that you will attend. _

"But this is-" Emma stammered, reading the next few lines.

"An invitation to my ball, yes." Danarius was turned to face her, elbow resting on the long seat's back edge.

Emma risked a glance at Fenris to see how he was taking this sudden situation. The elf's features were entirely calm, the invitation appearing to have come as no surprise to him. He stared intently on her face as if gauging her reaction, as well. Emma swallowed and peered at the invitation, bringing it just in front of her nose before dropping it back into her lap with a sigh.

"Well, obviously, I can't go."

Danarius raised a brow at this. "Oh?"

"No, of course not." Emma scowled at the letter, tempted to toss it into the fire.

The magister looked amused. "And why not?"

"Unless I'm serving food, it's preposterous." Emma let out a humorless laugh, images of swaying skirts and gloved fingers filling her mind. "Me? At a ball? I wouldn't think on it, even if I weren't a...well, even if I didn't work here."

"Why would you not think on it?" Danarius pressed curiously, leaning forward a bit.

Emma's cheeks heated and she felt silly to have put up so much resistance. Who was she to say what she should and shouldn't do in someone else's home? As a slave, no less. It was just…

Danarius brought two fingers to Emma's chin, lifting her blushing face and forcing her to meet his eyes. "You're going," he murmured simply.

"Yes," she whispered. "Alright."

The magister smiled softly and released his hold on her chin. He lifted himself from the couch and crossed the room to the library, opening the door and disappearing inside.

Fenris pushed away from the wall to follow Danarius.

As he passed Emma, he muttered, "Talk later," and joined Danarius, closing the door behind.

vVv

"This is bad," Fenris said gravely, stocking a plate with bread. Emma followed him to the back of the kitchens, her own plate clenched tightly in her hands.

"I know!" Emma groaned as they reached the dark corner. She propped herself against the table's edge and set the plate down beside her. "For so many reasons."

"Yes," Fenris agreed, lips closing around a buttered scone. He stared thoughtfully at the wall, as if a solution could be written there, solving all their problems.

"I can't dance without an injury, let alone _with _one." Emma grumbled around a mouthful of jelly biscuit. "And if everyone sees me limping about the dance floor, Danarius will know I've been hurt and could discover that we've stolen medicines."

Fenris nodded once, chewing slowly.

"I'm a slave," she continued after gulping down some mint water. "I can't go to balls. The others may poke fun. They'll know my status as soon as they see me."

The elf turned his head to her, dark brows furrowing into a frown.

"And I have nothing to wear but this…" she gripped her tattered robes, "bloody thing!"

Fenris was scowling at Emma by her sentence's end, dropping the half-eaten scone onto his plate.

"You are a child," he hissed. "This is bad because Danarius has invited you to a ball. Danarius. This makes it absolutely certain that you're being pursued. Next, he'll be sending you invitations to his chambers. Unless you do as I say."

Emma swallowed her bite thickly, her pulse quickening.

"I did not bring you here to fret about what to _wear_." Fenris spoke fast through clenched teeth. "This is a matter of-" He brought a fist up to slam against the table, but instead laid it down gently, jaw jumping. Fenris closed his eyes and inhaled through his nose. "This is important. You need to think about what you say to Danarius. Do you realize what you're doing?"

Emma shook her head slowly with eyes wide.

Fenris leaned closer, dropping his voice to a gentle rumble. "He wants you right now. You don't want him to. Even if you do, you don't."

"I don't!"

"That remains to be seen."

"I don't."

"Then make it clear."

"How?"

"By shutting the fuck up."


	9. I won't accept the cake

vVv

Emma and the elves rose early throughout the week in order to squeeze extra labor into their days. The ballroom would need preparing before the guests were to arrive at the week's end.

When Emma first step foot into the room's depths, she felt her stomach tighten. It was quite possibly the most beautiful chamber in the entire castle. The windows were stained all the colors of the rainbow, shedding radiant shapes across the marble floor. Emma had bent low to observe this floor, gasping at the alarming profusion of detail. The floor was decorated in chips of pale rock that clustered together, spider-web like strings of gold connecting their edges. The ceiling was decorated of mirrors with clouds and god-like creatures painted expertly atop the reflection. A massive, golden chandelier of glass and candles hung high over the floor's center, putting the foyer's candleholder to shame.

Emma stared about the room, enchanted, as the elves began their work. She closed her eyes and imagined the plucking strings of violins filling the room, of her elegant skirts hanging from her hips. When she opened her lids, the idea seemed preposterous. As she stood before the grand room in her ragged robes and tangled hair, Emma wondered how she could possibly blend into its beauty. She would muddle its appearance with her own. Sighing, Emma clenched the broom in her hands. She supposed the least she could do was help prepare the chamber to be as gorgeous as possible. This might somehow make up the difference.

Needless to say, they were all marvelously busy. Washing the entire length of the marble floor, polishing the floor to ceiling windows, waxing the oaken ornaments trim along the walls. They clung to ladders that rose fifty feet high, dusting away at cobwebs with a long, cloth covered stick. The window's tapestries were cleaned and restrung, requiring ten elves for the task alone. After each day of preparing the ballroom in addition to their usual duties, the entire lot of them were exhausted, retiring to their rooms immediately after supper.

If Emma did not carry the privilege to soak after so a long a day of cleaning, she would have collapsed under the stress. And with the new arrangements Fenris and she agreed upon, Emma knew that Fenris would no longer lurk among the bubbles. After forcing her to promise she would listen to his advice, he relinquished the baths to her for thirty minutes after every supper.

"I'll not wait longer," he had stated firmly. "I'll enter regardless."

Emma had grimly agreed, cringing at the memory of his dark smile when he revealed the truth of his lengthy presence.

Despite knowing the elf would honor their compromise, Emma would carefully inspect the bathroom, pushing aside large collections of bubbles for good measure. She did this ritualistically before stepping out of her robes. Better to be safe than sorry, Emma reasoned.

Though why even the smallest part of the young woman feared he might want another peek was entirely beyond her. Fenris was treating Emma like a shaggy, unruly animal that he preferred to avoid the slaughter. He had even begun to train her as one would an animal, teaching Emma the proper moments to sit and speak should Danarius be near.

Each night, Fenris stood waiting in the corner of the kitchens, a plate piled high with food resting on the table's edge. If these nightly encounters had not involved the elf berating Emma for every breath she drew, they may have been something to look forward to. Maybe.

"When he offers you something; tea or cakes…" Fenris ripped a piece off a lemon round, sniffing it curiously before carving his ivory teeth through it. He instantly made a face of pure revulsion and shuddered, reaching for his mint water.

Emma suppressed a giggle, forcefully turning down the corners of her mouth. "You don't like lemon?" she asked.

"No."

Emma held out a beef dumpling. "Trade?" She knew the stubborn man would not accept unless it was an equal exchange. Even after these many weeks of food being available to him, Fenris refused the additional provisions, angrily insisting that they would not be permanent.

Fenris wordlessly collected the dumpling, passing the bitten round into Emma's hand. His eyes tightened with apprehension as he pushed the hot dough into his mouth, chewing cautiously. He then let out a long gust of air through his nose and gently closed his lids.

Emma smiled and pulled the wooden cup to her puckered lips. "You look happiest when you eat," she murmured into its hollow.

Fenris's eyes snapped open and shifted into a glare.

"When he offers you cake," he continued with a swallow, "do not accept."

No cake when offered? Emma groaned. Food also made her happy. To turn her nose up at a cream cake, no matter the dangers of receiving it, seemed a horrendous sin.

"But-"

"No."

"Maybe if I-"

"You do not accept the cake."

Emma folded her arms, narrowing her amber eyes. "How does eating a bloody cake make Danarius want inside my robes?"

Fenris exhaled sharply in annoyance. "Everything he offers you is a kindness," he spit the word out, mocking its meaning. "When you accept tea, cake, or a book, you accept _him_. His efforts. His affection." He set the dumpling down, stepping forward and dropping his voice. "When you smile and thank him, you are returning the affection and encouraging him to display more."

Emma frowned and tilted her head back to meet his eyes. "I'm only grateful, is all."

The elf inched closer, lowering his head so his words could reach Emma's ear. She could smell a pleasant aroma from his hair. Vanilla._ His skin is mint and his hair is vanilla. _So like Fenris, with his bright, green eyes and white hair. Emma herself often selected the cocoa butter lather. She wondered if Fenris may have found it fitting as well-

"You have feelings for him."

Emma jolted, surprised at the sudden accusation. She shook her head vigorously. "No," she hissed. "No, I keep telling you-"

"It's difficult to see," Fenris rumbled quietly, eyes softening around the edges, "but you must understand that the Danarius you know is fake. The man is a monster."

Surely not a monster, Emma wanted to argue. Just as Danarius believed Fenris to be frightening and ghastly, Fenris may have his own muddled perception. Perhaps the pair simply misjudged the other.

"I won't accept the cake," Emma promised with a defeated sigh.

Fenris nodded once and backed away. He continued listing off rules for interaction with Danarius until it was time for Emma to leave for the bath.

vVv

The next morning, Emma and the others finished cleaning the ballroom with days to spare. Finally back to her normal routine, Emma was eager to visit the library and select a few books for evening reads. What with all the extra work, she had been too tired to bother with reading, and settled into bed just after her bath each night.

After emptying the chamber pots that afternoon, Emma scurried across the castle, passing through Danarius's study and into his library. The sight of towering books both settled and excited her heart. She passed her fingers over the many spines, overwhelmed all over again by their vast numbers. Emma was pinching a blood-red book from its perch when she heard a soft chuckle just behind her. She spun around, fingers still poised before the book. Danarius was leaning against the back of the couch, only a few feet away.

The many urgencies of Fenris directly filled her mind and she struggled to pull each forth and organize them into a pattern that could be chosen from.

_Be still, be silent, be devoid of emotion…_

"Emma," Danarius smiled warmly, hands gripping the edge of the couch at his sides. He tilted his head to one side, hair that he normally combed back now drooping loosely into his eyes. Emma clamped her lips shut, abandoning the urge to return his greeting.

"Come to grab a book?"

Fenris's voice entered her mind as she recalled his guidance on responding to a question.

"_Minimal answers. If you can answer with one word, your response should be no more than that. If a response can be given silently, do not hesitate to take advantage. Be still, be silent, devoid of…"_

Emma nodded slowly, remembering not to meet his eyes and focusing on his embroidered chest.

"_Eyes are intimate things. Avoid them."_

"Any promising prospects?" Danarius pointed his gaze to her occupied fingers.

_"Show, don't tell."_

"Mm," Emma shimmied the red book from its tight position and brought it up in front of her for him to see.

"Ah," Danarius's eyes filled with recognition, one corner of his mouth drawing up higher than the other, "Roses to Eat". He pushed from the couch and took slow strides, legs opening and reopening the small slit in the bottom of his robes. He gently tugged the book from Emma's fingers, and opened its cover, pages whispering the story's awakening. "Beautiful book," he murmured, turning the pages in thought. "Sensual, honest, a bit strange…," Danarius let out a breathy laugh, relishing a private joke.

Emma jerked in surprise as Danarius dropped the novel to the ground with a loud smack. She lifted her head up to search the man's face and was met with a pair of lips crashing against her open mouth. Emma gasped against the aggressive flesh, eyes wide with shock. Danarius brought one hand to the back of her neck, the other around her waist, and crushed her flush against his body. He pressed his lips tighter against hers, tongue brushing her bottom lip. Emma leaned away at the wet intrusion, back slamming against books. Danarius was bent inches away from her face, eyes staring fixedly on her swollen lips.

"I'm sorry," he murmured, breathing heavily and closing his eyes. He sighed, opening his lids with a grin. His face was dark and feral. _Hungry. _Emma was bombarded with the notion that he was not at all sorry.

She remained as still as a statue, not knowing at all how to respond. Fenris hadn't yet explained how to handle Danarius's physical advances. It was all she could do to avoid looking at his eyes and remain silent.

Danarius hunched over, bending at the knees, and collected the fallen book. He pushed it into Emma's frozen hands and strode out of the room, smile still stretched across his face.

"Come, Fenris."

Emma's head snapped up, eyes frantically searching until they locked upon the elf's acicular form. Fenris was standing near the back window, body opaque against the sunlight. He stared at her with arms folded against his chest. Emma could not read his expression, his face covered in shadows.

Fenris dropped his arms to his sides and crossed the long library, green eyes still trained on Emma's rigid body. When he neared her, she could read his face, and winced at what was written there.

Disdain.

"Fenris," Emma pleaded, stepping from the shelf to intercept his path. "I tried to-"

"I know," he answered quietly and pushed her gently aside. Emma was startled that he responded and even more startled by what he said. She watched his back retreat from the room and brought a hand to her throbbing lips. Emma closed her eyes a moment, breathing shaky breaths in the quiet. After a few moments passed, she pushed the red book back into its home and retired to her chambers. Emma knew the others would worry that she hadn't arrived for supper, but she desired to talk to no one, preferring to contemplate in solitude.

Minutes later, Emma was pushing into her small room and falling across her mattress with a moan. She buried her nose into the thin pillow, smelling the now familiar scent of cocoa butter. It calmed the nerves that had hoarded inside her chest. Emma closed her lids with a soft sigh and allowed the event to wash through her mind. Danarius's lips, welded against hers. They were rough, like a chafed wound. The tip of his tongue drifting against the shape of her mouth, wet, warm.

Emma hadn't hated it.

She knew it was wrong, and desperately wanted to get away. She had leaned aside and was relieved when Danarius ended the kiss at that. But she didn't hate it.

Under different circumstances, in a different setting, with different roles, Emma may have found the kiss to be enjoyable. Perhaps. With another person. She recalled the feeling of crushing lips without acknowledging the person who caused it. It was a pleasant feeling.

She laid there, closed fingers resting beside her mouth, imagining the kiss in a different circumstance, setting, person, until sleep claimed her in its comforting embrace.

_...Fenris trailed his thumb across her lip, leaning forward to set his mouth upon hers. He lingered before their flesh met, relishing in the closeness..._

vVv

Emma woke abruptly, wrenched from a dream she had already forgotten.

A gentle rapping sounded from her door. She rose slowly and crossed the room to open it.

Before her hand reached the knob, the door was slowly thrust open. The intruder quickly stepped inside and collided with Emma, bringing a hand out to steady her.

"Apologies," Fenris whispered, "I thought you were asleep."

"I was," she sighed. "What is it? Danarius…?" Emma prayed silently that it wasn't, for she hadn't yet conjured a way to face him.

"No," Fenris spoke sharply, eyes flashing with anger. He pulled a small vial from his armor pocket. "For your injury. Is it almost healed?"

"Yes, thank you," Emma's fingers closed around the vial, "I should be fine by the ball."

Candlelight danced across Fenris's face, casting shadows under his eyes. He was glaring, though Emma could recognize that it was not directed at her. And the hateful expression he adorned in the library, she realized with relief, was neither hers.

"Are you alright?" Fenris asked softly, voice crackling like gravel underfoot.

"Yes," Emma answered truthfully. "It only startled me. I wasn't harmed." She shifted uncomfortably on her feet. _In fact, I imagined it would be quite lovely in another light._

Fenris nodded once, eyes grave. "You followed my advice well, considering."

"Does Danarius kiss your lips?" Emma blurted, regretting the words instantly.

Fenris's dipped his head slightly, hair dropping into his eyes. Emma noticed that his fists were clenched tight at both sides. He glared down at her, jaw jumping.

"I'm sorry, that was inconsi-"

"You know the answer to that question," Fenris growled. "Why do you wish to humiliate me?"

"Don't misunderstand!" Emma cried, reaching a hand to grip his arm. He drew his arm away sharply, hissing at the contact. "I never wished to humiliate you, Fenris. Not in the corridor, not here."

"Yes, he bloody kisses me, then." he snarled, voice quaking in anger. "_Venhedis_!"

"What?"

"It means goodnight," Fenris snapped, leaving the room and slamming the door behind him.

vVv


	10. Spin

vVv

Tarma burst through Emma's bedroom door three days later, clutching a pile of pale silk. It trailed like ribbons of water over her fingers and arms, sparkling in the candlelight. The older woman wordlessly laid the fabric out on Emma's bed to reveal its shape.

"Is that…?"

The dress was long and thin and astonishingly beautiful. It was a soft gray-blue color, prompting thoughts of rivers and cloudy skies.

"You didn't suppose you'd wear your robes, did you?" Tarma helped Emma slide out of her clothes and bent to examine her side.

"It's healed nicely," she noted, passing a finger over the pink flesh. "How does it feel?"

"Much better," Emma replied vacantly, still gawking at the gown.

Tarma let out an amused laugh. "Alright, let's put you in the thing." The elf ordered Emma to hold both arms over her head as she gingerly slipped the gown over the human's body. Emma eagerly pushed her arms through the thin sleeves, enjoying the way they drooped past her wrist. Tarma backed away to examine the dress, cupping her chin with two fingers in thought.

She sighed, dropping her hands limp at her sides. "Well, it's just about the most beautiful thing I've seen in my entire life. And I've beheld a dripping wet Fenris without a tunic, so that's saying quite a bit."

Emma giggled, lifting the gown up with her fingers. She spun in a full circle and let the silk fall and sway like water passing over pebbles. Tarma removed a long toothed comb from the pocket of her robes.

"Tarma!" Emma gasped, lunging for the object. The older woman held it above her head in surprise. "Where did you _get_ that?"

Tarma blinked, "It's my personal comb. Danarius presented this to me on the day I became head of the house. I am often in the presence of himself and many other important mages. He requests that I look presentable at all times."

Emma clenched the ends of her long, tangled locks. No matter how often she ran her fingers through it, her hair remained mischievous all hours of the day. A comb would set things right in a manner of minutes. It had been her largest insecurity, more so even than odor, throughout slavedom. She prayed that Tarma wasn't simply about to straighten out her own short, silvery hair.

The older woman approached her, comb in hand, as slowly as one would approach a rabid beast if they were foolish enough to do so. Emma stiffened, eyes pleading whilst Tarma reached out a hand to pass the bone teeth through her hair. She sighed in relief as the familiar pain of unlocking strands burned her scalp. The comb caught many times and Tarma grunted in effort as she pushed it through. After several minutes of battling Emma's wild hair, it was tamed.

Tarma proceeded to collect bunches of Emma's now smooth strands and wove them together at the base of her neck. Emma closed her eyes as the elf worked, pleased with the simple contact. Behind closed lids, Emma could imagine her sister, Bethany, to be the one tying her locks. She opened her eyes slowly, realizing she was considerably satisfied with Tarma's presence as a substitute. Emma had grown to care very much for the aged elf, and she believed that the feelings were reciprocated.

Tarma took a step back again to admire her handiwork. She circled Emma slowly and let out a low whistle.

"Pardon me for saying," she smiled sheepishly, pulling at a wavy strand so that it settled across Emma's forehead, "but I hadn't the faintest idea you were so pretty."

Emma's cheeks flushed at the compliment and she lowered her head, mumbling gratitude.

"Oh!" Tarma cried and fished through her robes. "These," she pulled a thin pair of rolled up slippers from her pockets. They were simple, white and pleasant. Emma pulled them on quickly, happy to feel the comfortable barrier against her soles.

"Ready?" Tarma questioned abruptly.

Emma's head snapped up from her slippers. "Now?"

"Yes, now, child!" Tarma laughed. "What else have you to do?"

Emma smiled nervously and moved to the door, Tarma close behind. They passed through the servant's corridor, Emma's long gown rustling along the stone floor behind them. She liked the sound.

When the pair reached the grand, mirrored corridors of the house, Emma turned her head to have a look at herself. Her steps slowed as she stared before arriving to a full stop.

Her face was pale olive, a child-like array of freckles spanning her upper cheeks and nose. She realized her skin had never been so fair, having spent most of her days in the Fereldon sun. Emma beheld the elegant arrangement of her hair, turning her head to admire the chestnut braids. She was now able to view the dress fully and was taken away by its beauty all over again. The long sleeves wrapped snug around her arms and flayed out as they moved down. The dress bodice was a shade darker blue than the skirts, white swirls decorating its face. Emma smiled wide at herself, flashing straight teeth over full pink lips. She hadn't realized she could be so pretty, either.

A chorus of voices echoed through the halls, growing louder and louder as they neared the ballroom. The great maple doors were open, strings and drums sliding through its broad gap and into Emma's ears. Tarma passed Emma an encouraging small, patting the woman's shoulder, before retreating down the hall and toward the kitchens to prepare the feast.

Two human guards stood erect at both doors, eyes pointed forward. Emma greeted them, uncertain of what to do next. One guard's lip twitched, but he stayed focused on his reflection in the adjacent mirror.

Emma leaned over to this guard, twisting at her fingers. "I know you're supposed to...guard," she began in a whisper. "But perhaps you could tell me how to proceed?"

The man inclined his head, eyes still trained across the corridor. "Erm," he mumbled. "Just go in."

"Really?" The guard nodded once and Emma felt her stomach tighten. Just like that? Stroll in and be surrounded by all the wealthy, important magisters of Tevinter? Emma found herself wishing for Danarius's arm, if just for guidance in the foreign atmosphere. Or much better, the green eyed glare that made her feel so completely acknowledged.

She drew cautious steps into the ballroom, slippers peeking out from under silk with each stride. Light poured across the room in streams of gold and yellow. The candles on the chandelier were lit and flickering. A beautiful room.

Every head in the vast chamber turned to observe her entry. The lords and ladies of the Tevinter, dressed in grander robes than Emma had ever seen. Pale faces, rouge lips, sharp cheekbones. Each set of eyes scrutinized her every detail with a fierceness that made Emma's cheeks burn scarlet. She could not imagine a better response to the stares other than dipping in a low courtesy, her eyes set on the marble floor.

"Emma," a familiar voice rang. Danarius nudged through the crowd and crossed the ballroom, eyes widening as he slowed to a stop in front of her. "Emma," he repeated quietly, "you look stunning."

She smiled, unable to stop her mouth before remembering Fenris's rules, and took the magister's hand as he extended it to her. Blushing, Emma watched as Danarius lifted her hand to his lips and planted a chaste kiss on her fingers.

The room seemed to take a collective breath of air and Emma dropped her eyes to the floor in embarrassment. Still grasping her fingers in his own, Danarius led her to the middle of the dance floor. The musicians had paused their ministrations upon Emma's entry and now resumed their play after receiving a curt nod from Danarius.

He pulled Emma to his chest, a hand resting on her hip, and began a fast waltz. It was easy for Emma to follow his lead, because of the way he shoved and yanked her like a sack of flour. They spun and twirled, stepped and toed until Emma's head swam with the blurred images of staring guests and sparkling marble. She was relieved when the number was ended, and Danarius stepped away. He was breathing deeply and flashing a wide grin, eyes bright and cheeks rosy. He turned to the guests, waving his arms.

"Dance, dance!" he urged, still smiling. Danarius grabbed the hands of a perplexed she-mage and spun into another waltz. The rest joined in, reluctantly at first, but soon the room was full of chattering, laughter, and stepping feet.

Emma backed away from the dance floor as no one showed any interest in taking her hand. She did not expect them to, with her status being so far below theirs. They had reacted strangely to Danarius's and her performance, their faces screwed up in disapproval. Now she seemed in the way and took to the shadows.

Emma was admiring the brilliant chandelier when she heard a rustling beside her. She turned her head to meet the intense green eyed gaze of a very handsome elf.

"Fenris," she sighed with a smile, vaguely distressed by how relieved she felt to see his face.

Fenris nodded once, brows furrowed in his signature frown. "Emma."

All at once, Fenris grabbed Emma's wrist and dragged her back to the dancers. The human protested in surprise, attempting to pull away from Fenris's firm grip and prompting him to tighten his fingers.

"What are you-?"

"Danarius has requested we dance."

Emma searched the crowd of twirling mages for their master. "Whatever for?"

"He enjoys it."

Fenris came to a halt in the center floor, wrenching Emma by the arm to face him. He bent into a deep bow, raising his head to glare at her until she dipped into a clumsy curtsy. The elf's expression was inscrutable as his hand positioned at her waist, hovering just above the silk so that he was barely touching her. Fenris waited a moment, and sighed when she didn't move. He grabbed her arm and placed it on his shoulder before returning his hand to her waist.

With that, Fenris began to spin slowly, gracefully. He led completely, dipping his side as she followed suit. He lengthened their arms, stepping away from her body before pulling her back and curling an arm around her.

"Spin," the elf commanded. Emma twirled out of their entanglement and her dress brushed against her legs. He continued to step and turn, his strides long and certain. Emma couldn't take her eyes off the elf's face. He was not concentrated, as if the dance were second nature, and his eyes roamed the room for another occupation. Emma studied his features, pleased to have the opportunity to gaze on in private.

She began at his nose, narrow and straight. _Just like him_, Emma smiled. His lips were a beige pink, a shade lighter than his golden skin. And it glowed, as golden as sand on a sunny beach, across his angular face. His white hair fell over dark brows and into his eyes. Emma's gaze lingered on these eyes that gleamed like emeralds in the candlelight.

_This man is beautiful. _

Her eyes then wandered to the strange markings that trailed from his lower lip, over his chin, and down his neck. They disappeared into his armor and Emma recalled their swirling, continuing across his chest and around his arms. She blushed when his eyes flashed down to meet her stare. He raised a brow in question and she scrambled for something to say.

"Are you Dalish?" she decided on the markings, hoping it would provide as an explanation for her studious gaze. "Your tattoos are very inter-oh!"

Fenris lifted Emma off the ground with two firm hands and twirled her before setting her down upon the floor. She swayed in his arms, feeling a bit dizzy.

"Your markings," Emma continued with pure interest. "Are they Dal-ah!"

The elf lifted Emma again with a twirl and plopped her back down on the marble. Emma's head was positively spinning now. When her eyes focused, she found Fenris glaring hard, face twisted in urgency.

Emma grumbled, "Fine, forget my asking." Fenris grunted in what Emma perceived as sanction.

The music came to a close and Fenris slowly ceased his motions. He bowed once more and left Emma's side before she was given the chance to return a curtsy. She frowned at the loss of warmth, pulling thoughtfully at her fingertips.

"Everyone, please, may I humbly beg for your attention?"

Emma and the guests turned their heads to find Danarius standing in the middle of the crowd. They fanned out in a circle so he could easily be seen among everyone.

Danarius spread his arms, inviting, a toothy smile plastered to his face. "Well," he stated merrily, dropping his arms with an audible _thump _at his sides. "I do have a reason for this ball." He gazed at his comrades and acquaintances.

"You do?" a curious man asked. He was tall and moderately handsome, with small black eyes and short, blonde hair. "What a relief! I was beginning to grow annoyed. I travelled a week for this ball."

Danarius laughed good naturedly. "Have no fear, old friend, there _is _a cause for celebration. Though I doubt you would miss an opportunity to share a dance with me."

The other man rolled his eyes and gestured for him to continue.

Danarius inhaled, puffing up his chest, and said his next five words in an exhale.

"I am to be married."

Everyone clapped politely, some more robust than others. This included the tall man who strode to Danarius's side and gathered him in a strong hug.

"About time," his friend laughed, slapping the older man hard on the back. "Well, who is it? Ellis of Minrathous? You had your eyes on her for quite a long time."

"No, no," Danarius chuckled, eyes searching the crowd. "She's not of Tevinter. She's…"

Emma leaned forward, peering at every head in the bunch. What could she be like, this woman? Would this quiet or entirely quell Danarius's urges to advance upon Emma? She spotted a very pretty mage across the circle, hair long and waving down her back. Perhaps…

"Ah, there she is," Emma turned to follow Danarius's gaze and froze when she found it was trained upon her. The magister's smile grew upon their eyes meeting and he extended his hand to the young woman. "Come here, Emma."

vVv


	11. Here you are

vVv

Emma's legs did not move. They quite simply couldn't. She felt as frozen as if Danarius's had encased her in ice. _What happened?_

The room was also silent and still in the wake of Danarius's announcement, every mage's mouth hanging open in unmasked shock. Emma flinched and took a small step back as Danarius barked an abrupt laugh. It echoed ominously through the vast chamber. The magister strode before the Emma statue and grabbed her hand, vainly tugging in encouragement. Her feet remained planted firm on the marble. Danarius chuckled, a gentle laugh in comparison, and dragged her to the center of the circle. Facing his stiff guests, he pulled at Emma's waist so that she was molded along his side. She placed a shaking hand on his chest and gently pressed against it in a silent plea to be removed. Danarius's arm tightened around her in refusal.

The man who spoke earlier took a small step forward. "Danarius," his lips were pulled into a tight, forced smile. "What is the meaning of this?"

Danarius flashed the man a genuine grin."It's just as it seems," he replied lightly. The hand at Emma's waist gave a hard squeeze, causing her to gasp in surprise.

"But she's a…," the tall man sputtered in disbelief, "it was my understanding that she was a _slave_."

Danarius nodded, playfully mocking his friend's obvious statement. "She is."

The man's eyes widened even further at this. "You can't marry a slave!" he exclaimed.

"Can't I?" Danarius pronounced with raised brows. "Are not slaves to do with which pleases us?"

The man stomped to Danarius's side, hands balled into fists at his thighs. The guests then began to murmur amongst themselves, faces still smothered with complete consternation.

"Yes," the friend hissed quietly so as not to be heard. His eyes flashed to Emma's shock stricken features. "So bed her. You need not..._marry _the slave if you enjoy her. Bed her and marry a more _wealthy, respectable _woman."

"That is not what pleases me, Larus," the magister's voice lowered dangerously. "_She_ will be my wife."

There it was, the title. Emma's knees buckled and she sagged against Danarius, who sighed and supported her weight with a compressing arm.

"It is not against our law," Larus reasoned, voice rigid with urgency, "but it is political suicide." he groaned, rubbing his face. "Really, _now_, Danarius? So soon before the Magisterium elects an Archon? Is that not what we've been working to achieve for the past twenty years?"

"They will elect me," Danarius growled. "I can make their lives unpleasant if they do not."

Larus snorted. "You can't threaten every member of the senate, Danny." He glanced around the room, running fingers through his hair in agitation. "I'm sure it is no accident that a fourth of the damned council is gathered here tonight." His stare shifted back to the trembling girl. Though Larus would never lower himself so far as to marry a slave, this one in particular was inarguably beautiful and well worth a bedding. But how could she have caused Danarius to behave so ignorantly? When they were so close to ruling all of Tevinter? "How will you appeal to them?" the younger magister asked, eyes returning to Danarius.

"Let's discuss that now."

Danarius slowly removed Emma from his body and gently pushed her shoulders back. She gasped as her cheek met with cold metal.

A familiar voice rumbled inside the steel chest, and Emma almost whimpered in its solace.

"Master."

"Take her to the study. We have some time before the feast and it seems she needs a moment to...process. Give the girl a brandy. Larus and I will collect her at the end of the hour."

"Yes, master."

Emma heard the two magister's voices grow more and more distant as the pair retreated from the ballroom. She stood mutely, face still pressed against the elf's chest as he held her steady.

"Can you walk?" the rumble reverberated pleasantly into her ear.

"Yes," Emma pushed off the man's body. "Yes, of course," she repeated, lifting her chin. "I'm not a damsel in distress."

Fenris's face darkened at that, but he gave no response other than to turn around and walk toward the ballroom's exit. Emma followed close behind, holding her head high though gravity seemed at its strongest that evening. She felt the sting of many sharp eyes poking her back.

The two travelled through the quiet corridors, feet padding against polished stone. Emma watched the elf's grim face in the continuous mirrors. She had never yearned for the power to know what he was thinking more than in that very moment. And she often wanted the ability.

Fenris held open the door to Danarius's study and waited for Emma to enter before closing it behind himself.

Silence stretched between them as Fenris unfasted the liquor cupboard near the back wall. He pulled a crystal glass and a bottle of brandy from its depths. Emma watched as he crossed the room, gracefully pouring the golden-brown liquid into the shallow glass with long, tan fingers.

"Don't drink this," Fenris murmured as he laid the liquor into Emma's open hands.

She nodded her head, rubbing a finger along the glass edge. "I could use it, though," she smiled faintly. How she wanted to down the drink in one gulp and let the thick warmth eliminate her anxieties for a few hours.

Fenris lowered himself onto the chair opposite her. "As could I," he sighed. "But we need to think clearly now more than ever."

Emma's brow furrowed. "_I _need to think clearly," she corrected the elf. "You needn't involve yourself. Why do you involve yourself?"

Fenris rested his head on the back of the seat, jaw jumping in the way it always did when she said something that annoyed him. "I believe I've told you," he began, voice startlingly even despite his obvious frustration, "I do not want you, nor anybody else, harmed." His eyes tightened as they stared at the oaken ceiling, "If I were to leave you...and allow you to fend for yourself," the elf snorted humorlessly at the thought, "I would be no different than a murderer."

Unsure of how to respond, Emma dipped her gaze to the brandy. She gently tapped the glass with a finger and watched as ripples disturbed the stagnant liquid.

"You're not Dalish," Emma stated finally, choosing to delay the impending the subject, if only for a moment. She lifted her head to gauge the elf's reaction, as it had been so intriguing during their waltz.

Fenris leaned forward and rested his elbows on each thigh, eyes sparking with suppressed interest. "You're not of the low class."

Emma rolled her eyes and lifted the glass to her lips before remembering that it was off-limits.

The elf studied her every movement, one corner of his mouth slowly pulling up higher than the other. "Interesting that you feel an urge to take a drink of liquor after my saying so."

"It was a reflex!" Emma cried indignantly, setting the glass down on the low, wooden table that sat between them. "I'm thirsty!"

Fenris raised a single brow at the poor excuse, lips twitching as if to hold back a smile.

"You will have to tell me one of these days," he uttered quietly. "Why it is you're here," he bent closer, hands splayed against the tables edge, "Even if I have to force it out of you."

Emma frowned to disguise the shiver that crawled its way up her spine.

"It's not an interesting story," she blushed under the elf's intent stare. "You're setting yourself up for disappointment. It's quite simple, really."

"If it isn't an interesting story," Fenris replied slowly, "I shall be very pleased."

Emma thought for a moment, bringing two fingers to tug at her bottom lip.

She glanced up at the beautiful man across from her and heaved a defeated sigh. "Very well, then. I'll tell you." Emma fell back against the cushions, searching for some kind of comfort in their soft embrace. "But it's very possible that I might cry."

Fenris flinched and opened his mouth to reply, only for his lips to gently press closed. He braced a hand against the table and leaned forward to nudged the stiff drink toward Emma's legs before collapsing back into the seat.

Emma wordlessly grasped the glass in two hands and brought it to her gaping lips, drawing a slow gulp of brandy. She sputtered as the liquor burned her on its voyage through her body, prickling like needles inside her nose and throat. Emma shuddered and placed the drink back down in distaste.

"Since I was four," Emma began, eyes cast down to her hands, "my family had accepted a servant into our home. My father was selling healing potions in the city during market week when she appeared at his stand, begging for an elixir in exchange for her work. My father had everything handle and didn't need her aid, but he gave her a potion. She looked badly pained. He asked her what happened and she told him that she was an escape slave from Tevinter, still under pursuit as they spoke.

"My Father immediately offered her work back at home. He paid her and did his best to keep her hidden from the slavers. My mother had been overwhelmed with me and my siblings. On top of keeping up the house chores and our small farm. My mother said she was a blessing from Andraste herself." Emma smiled softly at her hands. "She helped raise my siblings and me, and became part of our family. I don't remember a single time as a child without her. We all loved her very much." Emma's eyes pricked with tears and she clenched her hands into fists against her thighs, fighting back the urge to cry.

"About two years ago, she became very ill. It lasted for months. They seemed endless at the time. Seeing her that way day after day…," Emma winced in embarrassment as the tears spilled over and rolled down her reddened cheeks, "she died after a year of suffering from pain that none of my father's potions could quiet," her breath caught in her throat as she inhaled and breathed out slowly before it could turn into a sob.

"My uncle, Gamlen, arrived in town to visit later that year. It was the first time I had ever even heard of night, Gamlen went out to drink at the local pub and ran into some men. They paid for his drinks and offered him lots of money…," she glared at her lap, wiping the back of her hand across her face, "to loosen his lips. They were slavers. They had heard word that our family was hiding an elven woman and had come to investigate.

"They came to our house the next day. When they confirmed she was the one they had been searching for, they demanded that we pay for the destroying of someone else's property. My father asked a price and it was too high. They would have killed us all by right of Tevinter law if there hadn't been an available alternative: one of the "offspring" to replace her. We were young and replacing an older woman of "elven blood", so they considered us worthy of a compromise. _Temporary _slavery. I chose to be the one over my younger siblings."

"So here I am," Emma finished, glancing up at the elf with a shy smile.

He was staring at her, a deep frown marking his features. "Here you are," he replied vacantly.

Emma fell silent, wiping away a few straggling tears from her cheeks.

"I am sorry," Fenris murmured, his gravelly voice drawing her gaze back to his face. "For both your loss and my believing that you chose this life. Selfish reasons, I thought." He rose from the chair and positioned himself in front of the fireplace, hands clasped behind his back and eyes pointed straight ahead. "Many others have. People who take freedom for granted."

Emma inclined her head as sharp footsteps sounded nearer and nearer outside.

"I cannot pretend to hate you anymore."

Her heart stuttered at the words and the door flew open. Danarius and Larus poured inside, deep in conversation. The older magister was smiling while his companion looked positively ruffled, leaning into the man's ear in a frantic whisper, his hands twirling about as he spoke. When Larus met with Emma's stare, his mouth clamped shut and his eyes tightened in vexation.

Danarius slowly crossed the room and settled beside Emma with a small groan. He rolled his head in her direction, reaching a hand out to tuck a stray lock back into her braid. She stared determinedly at her interlocked fingers.

The magister's hand lingered to cup her cheek. "Did you enjoy the ball?" he asked warmly.

"Yes," Emma whispered for fear that her voice would quake.

The hand holding her cheek gingerly pushed her head to face him. "Are you unhappy?" he purred, lips inches from hers.

Emma stared at his mouth as she spoke, "I am confused," she answered truthfully.

"And me," grumbled Larus, who remained standing, arms crossed against his chest.

"I'm not," Danarius replied simply, still cupping Emma's face and gently stroking the skin with his thumb. He pulled away from Emma and lifted himself from the chair, turning to extend a hand out to the young woman. "Come, we've a feast of fools to attend."

vVv


	12. Go on, Demetri

vVv

Tarma stood waiting at the dining hall's entrance. She greeted the four, head bent low, as they passed into the chamber. Emma lingered for a breath beside the older woman and received a small, but firm prod in the back from Fenris to continue. They travelled along the rows of seated mages who poised stiffly before bare plates. Emma straightened her spine when she realized her shoulders were quaking.

Three slaves scurried forth to pull out chairs at the head of the table when they neared. Emma frowned at the unnecessary assistance. They were more than capable of seating themselves. Laurs and Danarius seemed oblivious to the action and silently rested in their chairs.

Danarius addressed the room with a large, smooth voice. Commanding and friendly at once.

"Dear friends," he began, eyes roaming from face to face. "I do hope you've enjoyed your stay thus far. We have put together a mouthwatering feast that is certain to put your tired bones to rest."

The guests began to murmur their appreciation and a few less perturbed mages clapped their gratitude.

"Before we begin, however," Danarius reached a hand to Emma's lap, collecting her fingers into his. "I would like to formally introduce you to my fiancé," a few guests flinched at the word. "Emma, stand."

She began to rise but paused as an elf rushed to lug the chair away from the table for her. How completely unnecessary. Emma stood and faced the many guests, fingers still trapped inside Danarius's.

Everyone stared at the young woman, eyes studying the smallest of her details. She kept her gaze focused on the floral centerpiece, unsure of where else to look. It was made up of lovely pink and white flowers, soft petals speckled with rouge.

"Speak freely," Danarius murmured gently, squeezing her fingers for support.

Emma turned to the magister in horror. Speak _freely_ to _this_ lot? They appeared ready to slice open her belly and feast upon its contents. Emma blushed scarlet when she made the mistake of glancing at a particularly affronted she-mage, who had taken to squinting, lips pursed.

"I am Emma Hawke," she spoke slowly, "of Ferelden. I lived with my twin siblings, mother, and father before I volunteered to work here." Emma was careful not to call herself a slave and feed their revulsion.

A few people blinked in surprise, disturbed expressions falling from their faces. One mage, an older man with a round nose and long hair, broke the heavy silence.

"You say you volunteered?" he questioned in a nasally voice.

"Well-... yes," Emma glanced at Fenris who stood a small distance behind Danarius. His eyes were full of warning and Emma understood that she should not elaborate on how she came to be one.

The man pressed forth, resting his arm on the clothed table. "But _why_?"

Thankfully, Danarius interjected at this, "Is it so difficult to believe that a young, pretty girl like Emma would _choose_ to work in my home?"

"Yes!" the man cried, and a burst of laughter filled the room.

Danarius shrugged with a relaxed smile, raising his hands in a gesture of defeat. The guests continued to laugh and discuss the exchange with interested grins. Emma smiled hesitantly, feeling it was the best reaction to their outburst, though laughing at her tale of woe would have been impossible.

"When did you arrive?" a female voice spoke as the laughter began to subside. It was the beautiful woman that Emma had earlier suspected to be Danarius's fiancé.

"At the start of Molioris," Emma answered.

A woman, not so much older than Emma, leaned over to be seen on the far end of the table. Her hair was a startling red, piled high atop her head. "What sort of things do you do?"

"I wash the marble, polish the mirrors," she responded, unconsciously lifting her unoccupied fingers as she named each activity, "help with the dusting, change the bedding, read Danarius's books-"

"You can read?" Larus interrupted with wide eyes. His face darkened in embarrassment when Danarius fixed him with a stern look. Emma smiled, remembering that Danarius had been equally surprised by her abilities.

"Yes," she replied with a touch more confidence. "My current favorite is _That Pause in Your Breathing_."

"Oh," the fiery haired woman exclaimed with a clap of her hands, "I do love that book! Perhaps it is my favorite, as well."

"Where did you get that dress?" a petite he-mage inquired eagerly. His gaze lingered upon the embroidered bodice, as though he envied Emma and wished to climb inside it himself.

Her eyes flicked to her hand, still locked inside Danarius's cold fingers. "It was a gift from Danarius." Emma stopped the urge thank him, Fenris's voice filling her mind.

"_When you smile and thank him, you are returning the affection..."_

The small mage's inflection pulled Emma from her thoughts. "Why do you never buy _me _gifts?" he whined, pouting at the dark haired man beside him who then sighed and rubbed his temples.

"What can I give you that you don't already own a hundred of?" he grumbled, reaching for his wine glass. "Tell me and I shall make arrangements at once."

The small man was arguing that it was the thought which counted when another voice broke in, this one belonging to a frail, aged woman with a scarlet cowl.

"Emma, when do you-,"

"Forgive me, Madam Duran," Danarius smiled, gently pulling Emma back into her seat, "but I must ask that you hold your inquiry for a moment. It appears our feast has arrived."

The guests clapped and gave a polite cheer as the servants began filing in, bearing platters stacked high with food.

Arathea stepped fluidly at the group's head, carrying a large, silver tray of fish pie that sizzled, pulled fresh out of the oven, just moments ago. Emma and the others gasped as two broad shouldered men came into view behind her, faces tight with effort as they hauled an adult boar to the center of the table. Elves continued streaming into the dining hall, lugging salvers of herb salads, cheese stuffed mushrooms, chick pea crumble, steamed vegetables, smoked figs, and so much more than Emma could possibly consume even if she took only a single bite of each dish.

Her mouth began to water at the promise of tasting these riches, just as Danarius had foretold. The food smelled sinfully delicious as it took to wafting its intoxicating fumes throughout the hall, lulling Emma into a trance-like state.

She reached for the fish pie platter as soon as it was set onto the table near her. Arathea's pale fingers flashed into view, collecting Emma's plate and carefully stocking it with a helping of pie. The young woman sighed at yet another display of immoderate servitude.

Everyone began eating after the elves piled food onto their plates, silver clinking pleasantly against porcelain.

Emma was constantly hurrying her chews to answer the onslaught of questions. With each reply Emma provided, the mages' features softened more and more until they were gracing the woman with affectionate cooes and light laughter.

Danarius watched closely, eyes glinting as what was becoming a rare smile pulled at Emma's lips. The young woman glanced his way frequently, and it visibly pleased him. He did not realize that she was instead looking at the green eyed elf just behind him.

What drew her attention was the elf's fervent glares. Emma could guess why he was angry.

She was being too kind, too talkative, too cozy. Breaking almost every rule that he had gone out of his way to assert. Emma dipped her head and chewed slowly, feeling the slightest bit of shame. It was so difficult to ignore people, even Tevinter mages, when they were so kind and curious. And Danarius...she peeked at him from under her lashes, grateful that his eyes were averted to Larus for the moment. He was being so hideously charming. Emma wished he would reveal the monster that Fenris so often warned her of. Though she did not desire the magister in a romantic sense, it was hard to be cold when he was so warm.

"Slave girl," Larus grunted, tapping the table's clothed service with a knuckle, "what of Ferelden's-"

"Rude boy, she has a name," Danarius yawned, pushing his empty plate away. A young elven woman, Yanwen, shuffled forth to collect it, politely asking if he should like dessert. The older magister shook his head, rubbing his tired eyes. "Bring it for the others in a moment."

"Yes, master," she bent her head in a quick bow before rushing off to the kitchens.

"Emma, then," the blonde magister scowled, "how are the mages fairing in Ferelden, do you know?" His eyes narrowed, "Were you of Templar origins?"

Emma's brows furrowed and she quickly murmured, "No, my father is a mage."

Danarius's head lifted from his hands, hair slightly disheveled, "I didn't know that."

"Yes," Emma nodded, "and my sister, as well. My brother and I are not of magical blood."

"I didn't know that," the older magister repeated thoughtfully.

Laurus leaned across the table a bit, "Of course, we've heard of the oppression of mages. They don't talk about it much, here, however. The Magisterium doesn't want to give the others ideas. There are less mages than non-magics, afterall."

Emma nodded once, fingers closing around her wine glass.

"What do you know of the circle-"

"_Augh, you stupid bitch!_" a shrill cry pierced through the quiet chatter. "_How _dare _you?_"

Emma turned and stopped breathing, stomach twisting, when her eyes fell upon the scene.

Arathea was knelt on the ground beside the chair belonging to a mage; one who had not previously spoken. It was a fair haired man, dressed in silken, cream robes. Trailing down his front was a crimson stain of wine. The man leapt from his chair, glare jerking from his tainted robes to the trembling Arathea at his feet.

"_Above all," Tarmaiiel murmured, tipping a bottle of red wine into a crystal goblet, "You must not spill a drop." Emma watched the thick liquid slosh delicately into the bottom of the goblet, rising against the walls._

Emma glanced fearfully at Fenris who was holding an even expression, eyes pointed to the far wall. His jaw jumped in that familiar gesture of anger.

"_You ruined my robes," _the mage snarled, eyes wild with hate, _"you filthy knife-eared wench."_

The furious mage clenched Arathea by the hair and thrust her head into the marble floor, a sickening crack resounding through the chamber. The elf moaned in pain as her attacker's fingers curled, summoning a spell into his palm.

Emma rose from her seat, chair screeching loudly against the polished stone. Every face turned to fix their stare upon her as she stood, red faced and chest heaving in mortification.

"Sit down, Emma," came Danarius's weary sigh as he tugged at her dress. She turned to him slowly, eyes wide. Sit _down_? And leave that pathetic man to brutalize her friend? Emma stepped away from the chair, toward the gruesome scene, and was met with another sharp tug from Danarius. He pulled her forcefully, eyes full of warning, and Emma collapsed into her seat. She glowered at him and he lifted both brows, chin resting in his palm.

"She becomes upset," Danarius explained to his curious guests, while still staring at Emma. She felt the words were more meant for her ears than the mages', "When the others cannot do their tasks properly, she becomes upset." The staring mages' eyes flashed in understanding, smiles returning to their faces. "Go on, Demetri."

The outraged man, Demetri, lifted his hand and slowly closed his fingers into a tight, shaking fist. Arathea coughed and gasped, as if all the air had been removed from her lungs. She convulsed on the marble, mouth opening and closing like a fish lost from the sea. Emma gripped her dress as tears of horror pricked her eyes.

Blood trickled past Arathea's lips and her movements slowly stilled. She stared unseeingly at the mirrored ceiling. The elf's mouth was parted in a silent scream.

Demetri was breathing heavily, veins bulging along his neck. He opened his fist and Arathea fought for air in violent gasps, coughing and whimpering softly. Tears streamed down her cheeks as she stared fearfully up at Demetri, who had turned to retrieve his wine glass. He brought the wine to his lips, pulling a swift sip from its depths before tipping it over Arathea's robes. He stained them red to match his own.

"Right," Danarius exhaled, dabbing at his lips with a napkin's edge, "would anyone care for dessert?"

Emma stared at the man in disbelief. _Dessert? _She scrutinized the faces of every guest and was appalled to find smiles and mouths open in resumed conversation. Emma glanced back at Arathea, who was then being collected into the arms of a grim faced elf who she recognized as the farmhand, Thanron. He silently carried the weeping and moaning Arathea out of the dining hall.

Emma turned to Danarius, dropping her voice low so as not to be heard by the chatting guests, "I want to leave. Let me be excused."

"No," the magister replied, collecting her fingers in his. She flinched at the touch and attempted to pull away, but Danarius's fingers tightened and his eyes turned cold. "You will stay."

Hot tears filled Emma's vision and she stared at her blurry plate, willing them away. Danarius gave her fingers a squeeze in what he must have considered a reassuring gesture. It did not bring the slightest touch of ease into Emma's aching chest.

She glanced again at Fenris, who was idly travelling the gleaming rodes of his arms with long fingers. Emma found a small comfort in the muscles of his jaw, that still moved and jumped as he ground his teeth in anger. Seeing his anger, apart from the happy faces of every mage around her, helped Emma calm a little. She breathed slowly through her nose, staring at the elf, until she was finally able to look upon the others without feeling the stinging prick of tears behind her eyes.

Elves came forward to present everyone with chocolate pudding, lemon rounds, and vanilla cake. The guests ate heartily, though Emma could not be forced, even if refusal brought her Arathea's fate, to eat another bite. Her appetite had vanished the moment she looked upon Arathea's crumpled form. How could the mages eat, even with their hatred for elves, after witnessing a woman be beaten and nearly killed by blood magic? Simply for spilling wine.

Emma watched the others eat and answered a few more prodding questions with all friendliness, reluctant as it had been, now lost from her voice. All she could think about was Arathea. Emma wanted to leave immediately and join the others to tending her wounds. She would grab what was left of her salve and apply it to the poor elf's head, where Emma had seen it strike the marble.

And, Emma recalled, stifling a groan, what did the others eat while she was stuffing her face with boar and fish pie? Most likely the pathetic portions of bread and cheese. To think Emma had almost been _anticipating_ this horrific ball.

"My elves will show you to your rooms," Danarius announced suddenly, making Emma jolt in surprise. "I pray you will find them sufficient. Do ring the bells should you require any assistance."

Emma quickly rose from her chair, eager to collect the medicine and join everyone in caring for Arathea. She tugged at her fingers, still trapped inside Danarius's, but he did not let go. Instead, he slowly rose, yawning sleepily and stretching his spine.

The magister answered Emma's imploring stare with a lazy smile, hand unlocking to meet with the small of her back. "You'll be joining me in my chambers tonight."

vVv


	13. Kiss me like you want to

vVv

Danarius and Emma travelled through the corridors with Larus and Fenris close behind. The magister stopped before a door in the middle of the hall and opened it with his free hand.

"This will be your room, Larus," Danarius explained, releasing Emma's back to enter the dark chamber. He snapped his pale finger and an orange flame flickered just above the flesh. "I need a word with you," he said as the blonde magister nodded and dipped inside his room. Danarius turned to Emma, fingers curled around the door's knob. "Wait here." He closed the door slowly, flashing her a tired smile.

"Emma," the gentle rumble sounded behind her.

Emma stared at the mable door, twisting at a loose lock of her hair. "Fenris."

When the elf did not speak, Emma turned to meet his gaze. He was wearing a pained expression, knuckles white as he gripped the chamberstick. The light from the small fire glinted against his bright, green eyes. Fenris sighed, seemingly at a loss for words, and pushed his hair away from his face. Emma watched as the white locks fell back into their position over his brows.

She took a step toward him and he leaned against the wall, setting the chamberstick on its hook beside his head.

Emma narrowed her eyes, gaging the elf's every twitch for a glimpse at his thoughts. "You haven't said anything about the engagement."

Fenris's stare dropped doggedly to his arms and he brought a finger to trace their gleaming markings. "I don't know what to say," he murmured softly as his finger wound around the tan skin.

"What should I do?" she whispered.

Fenris lifted his head, wearing an expression that dripped with pure empathy. He understood what it meant to be an object of Danarius's desire.

"Do as we discussed," Fenris muttered, eyes darkening as he spoke, "be silent. Stop talking to them, Emma," the elf's brows furrowed and he shook his head in irritated confusion, "Don't you understand that conversing with those bastards is what caused this?"

Emma flinched and pulled nervously at her fingers. "I hadn't known," she mumbled, feeling the burning in her nose, the promise of tears, "If I had known that they could do such a thing…"

Fenris shook his head again, glare melting and replaced with a quiet sadness. The expression was so gentle and sincere. Apologetic. Emma felt small in its shadow. The weight of the night landed crushingly on her shoulders and she gasped before a whimper could break past her lips.

"Fenris," she breathed. "I can't-,"

Larus's bedroom door slowly opened with a soft creaking. Emma wiped away the fear that had engulfed her features before Danarius could see.

"Ah," Danarius sighed, closing the door and reaching a hand to gather Emma's fingers into his. "Politics." Fenris leaned to grab the chamberstick as the three began their trek to Danarius's chambers.

"I'm so tired," the magister said. "It has been a long day. Larus and I will be very busy with the Magisterium these next few months. He'll be staying to help me tie all the loose ends before election."

The three turned a corner and stood before the great maple doors to Danarius's rooms. Fenris stepped forward to open them, exhaling lightly. Danarius guided Emma inside with his arm curled around her waist.

"Your shoulders are trembling," the magister chuckled as he pulled at the silken cloth about his neck, "You think I'm going to eat you." He drew away the silk and let it crumple to the floor.

_Aren't you? _Emma thought in apprehension. She stood in stiff stillness and glanced distractedly at her surroundings. Danarius's room was many shades of blues and browns. The theme was dark, sensual, navy tapestries waving against dark oak. Emma's small bedroom could fit five times over in his chamber. She watched Danarius lean forward to light the hearth, jets of fire shooting from his open palm. Fenris had already crossed the room to stand before the mantle, the same position he adopted in the study.

"You're frightened of me?" Danarius's voice lifted in a question, but Emma understood it to be a statement. He peeled the thickest of his dress robes from broad shoulders and laid them across the foot of his colossal bed. Danarius sat at its edge and bent to remove his boots. "Demetri," he grunted, pulling at the laces of one boot, "He's an important man. Son of the current Archon. The title would pass to him, but he refused, as is his right. Ruling an entire country is a responsibility that most will shy away from." Danarius lifted a leg to his knee and yanked off the shoe. "He still has a lot of power in the Magisterium, however." His pale, blue eyes lifted to the young woman's. "I cannot deny Demetri the pleasure of punishing one of my slaves when it has wronged him. I need his good favor."

"Wronged him?" Emma cried indignantly, forgetting herself in her anger, "It was an accident!"

Danarius raised his brows at the outburst as he tugged the second boot off, "A careless mistake and therefore an offense."

"A mistake _anyone_ can make!" she hissed, glaring at the magister. "A mistake _I _can make. A mistake that deserves no more than a chiding. She was within an inch of her life!"

"She's an elven slave," Danarius replied dismissively, as if that were the perfect explanation to the night's events. "Come here."

Emma shook her head, crossing both arms against her chest to make the message clear.

The magister's eyes darkened and his weary voice grew tight with suppressed anger. "That is enough defiance for one night," he murmured dangerously, "Don't test my patience, Emma." He stretched out a hand, "Come."

Emma ground her teeth and crossed the space between them, slipping her fingers into his. Danarius rubbed his thumb over her smooth skin and gazed at their meeting flesh.

Emma jolted in surprise as he pulled at her hand, crushing her lips to his. The magister's mouth moved quickly against hers, catching her lower lip with his teeth and swiping his tongue against the trapped flesh. She pulled away and Danarius didn't stop her. He laid back on the bed, supporting his weight on his elbows, and stared up at her with dark eyes.

"Thank you," he murmured, flicking a tongue out to wet his lips. Or gather her taste. Emma thought that he was referring to the kiss, but he continued with a tilt of his head, "I never could have convinced the council members of your cordiality on my own. You spoke well. They may overlook our obscure matrimony yet." He shrugged and wiped his jaw against his shoulder. "The rest," he sighed, "I will have to persuade with bribes or threats. Lord Nam may require both." Danarius narrowed his eyes a touch, one side of his mouth twitching as if to suppress a smile. "Continue to be friendly to the others."

Emma glared at the elegant bed sheets surrounding him. "You can't force me," she asserted, hating the quake in her voice, "I'll not be kind to those monsters."

Danarius leaned up to grasp Emma's hand and pulled her so she fell flush against his body. His fingers wound into her chestnut hair and spread its braid apart. Her hair fell in wavy curls between them. The magister lifted a lock between his fingers and pushed it behind her ear, eyes roaming her face. The hand on the back of Emma's head pushed her against his mouth again. She squirmed as he held her in a iron grip along his body. Danarius's lips molded against hers, forcing them apart to allow his tongue to dip inside. Emma grunted in disgust and turned her face away. Danarius, not at all deterred by her resistance, pressed rough lips upon her cheek. Emma felt his hot breath brush over her skin as he spoke.

"What did I say about defiance?" He planted an array of kisses against her jaw. "Hm?" Danarius moved his hand to stroke a finger along the bridge of her nose, tapping at its tip in a playful gesture. "Will you be kind to my guests?"

"Yes," Emma whispered, staring angrily at the carved bed frame. Her neck burned with the effort to crane away from his face.

"Do you wish to share my bed?" The magister's tone was mocking, but light and affectionate in its strange way.

Emma jerked her face to his, eyes pleading. If he wasn't toying with her, if she had a choice, she should like to see Arathea directly.

Danarius read her face and his lips broke into a teasing grin. "Are you certain?" His hand dipped inside the thick of her hair before pulling out leisurely, watching the strands fall through his splayed fingers.

"I wish to care for my friend," she answered, though the confession sounded like a beg.

Danarius rolled his eyes and leaned up slowly, drawing Emma's legs apart so she was straddling his lap. She blushed and glared at their intimate position.

"Kiss me and you may go."

Emma flinched at the words and Danarius raised his brows at her reluctance. That devious grin was gradually returning to his face. He knew she would not be able to refuse.

Emma slowly leaned forward and pressed her lips against his in a soft kiss. She drew away quickly, face burning hot.

The magister raised a hand to cup her warm cheek.

"Kiss me like you _want_ to and I shall grant you access to healing salves and potions for the damned elf." His eyes were hungry as they rested upon her plump lips.

Emma sighed against his mouth in defeat before closing her lips around his. She moved her mouth, slowly rubbing her flesh against the eager man's. Emma closed her eyes, as she would have if she wanted the kiss. Danarius exhaled in quiet bliss as she pulled away and climbed off his lap.

Emma told herself not feel shame from their kiss. She knew that in only minutes, Emma would be providing relief to her friend's pain. Even so. She felt Fenris's eyes burn her back, having seen the whole thing, and felt disgraced.

"Fenris will show you the way." the magister yawned, falling back into the bed and covering both hands over his eyes. "Leave before I require your lips again."

Emma scurried to Fenris's side, who silently turned to open the great chamber doors. He held them open, staring at her with a vacant expression as she passed through.

The elf held a lit chamberstick before them to light the path through the dark corridors. Emma followed close behind, trembling in the drafty air. Her dress was much thinner than her brown robes and she wanted to crawl back into their warmth. Back into the simple role of a slave. Back into the distance between her and Danarius. The silk dressed itched, despite the luxurious fabric, and she yearned to claw it from her flash. Tear it. Burn it.

Emma stared at the quiet elf whose eyes stretched unseeingly along the deep halls. Both of the instances that Danarius condescended to claim her lips, Fenris was there. It was dreadfully humiliating. His emerald eyes, so cold and calculating, had watched her mouth move willingly against the magister's. What did he think of her? Surely he understood that she only objectified herself because Arathea was in grave need of medicines. Fenris couldn't possibly think ill of her for those intentions, when he constantly moved out of his way to aid the others. Including Emma. Still…

"Why couldn't you have guarded the _outside_?" Emma grumbled, cheeks burning so red that she was certain it was visible in the dim candlelight.

"Danarius orders me inside every room he enters," Fenris explained, voice like rocks shifting underfoot. "On rare occasion, he will demand I wait outside." His eyes flicked down at her, before returning to point straight ahead. "Why?" he asked. "Had you desired privacy?"

Emma glowered at the elf's profile. "Don't be insulting," she snapped, "I didn't want you to see. In the same way you didn't want _me_ to see him rubbing himself all over you."

"Emma," Fenris growled in warning. His eyes were daggers that Emma was then glad not to have pointed in her direction.

The elf sighed and Emma noticed that his grip around the chamberstick had been bone crushing as it loosened and the color returned to his fingers. "I'm sorry," he said quietly.

"Me too," Emma blurted softly before realizing that it was true. She didn't know why she had tried to take her frustrations out on the elf. It was not his fault he witnessed her degradation. And he understood. He knew.

They turned a corridor that led down a dark chamber toward a spiraling staircase. Fenris began the descent and lit the way. Emma's fingers spread before her as she felt her way down the stone steps. If she had not Fenris to guide her, Emma would have been very frightened. Even with the chamberstick in her hand. Below the lavish marble, the castle was dark and eerie. The stone was cut into jagged shapes that jutted menacing all around.

They reached the bottom of the steps, a long, bleak chamber stretching before them. Fenris

walked along the the stone wall, lighting the hanging candles as he went. The orange light made the stone chamber slightly less intimidating.

Fenris led them to the end of the hall and to a small wooden door, fashioned with a slab of bark and a stone knob. Emma raised her brow, holding back the giggle that rose in her chest as Fenris ducked low, back arched like a stretching cat, and climbed into the room.

Soft glowing in hues of green, pink, and blue seeped from the tiny opening. Emma bent her body to fit through the door and into the strange chamber.

The chamber inside the opening was vast and cavelike, stretching as high as the monumental walls of the library. Long, thin rocks hung from the ceiling, extending low in areas and meeting with similar formations that grew up from the floor. Tall shelves sat about the room, equipped with mortars, pestles, vials, and flasks that gleamed bright with its colorful contents. The familiar spicy scent of magical potions filled Emma's senses and she stepped to be led by their fumes. She searched for the blood-like glow that would mark a healing potion and found a wide selection on the far western wall.

Emma's fingers closed around a tall, lean flask and she pulled the cork from its opening. She sniffed at the pink vapors that arose from the glass and absently shook her head. No, she recognized this to be for external infections. Emma's eyes roamed the shelf, settling upon a stout flask that carried a deep, red liquid with swirls of black in its depths. She plucked it from the shelf, though she already recognized the potion by its unique composition. Breathing in the familiar haze, Emma nodded in confirmation. For internal bleeding. Emma knew the potion would suit Arathea's blood magic induced injuries. She remembered the blood that had oozed from her lips. Yes, this potion would provide relief.

Emma turned to find Fenris eyeing her with poorly concealed interest.

"Your father shared his knowledge with you," he said with uncharacteristic admiration marking his tone.

A slight, proud smile played about Emma's lips.

Fenris slipped a vial of clear paste into her fingers, "For aches and bruises," he explained.

Emma sobered, smile leaving her face as she remembered Arathea's skull meeting the hard marble.

"Let's hurry," she murmured and ducked out of the chamber.

vVv


	14. It's not yours, either

vVv

Emma and Fenris heard Arathea before they laid eyes upon her. The desperate moans reached their ears as they turned into the servant's hall. The two exchanged a grave look before hastening down the corridor and to the kitchens. Fenris wrenched open the door, Emma immediately scrambling inside, and shut it gently behind.

Arathea was spread out on the long, wooden table with every adult elf in the castle surrounding her. The injured woman's breath rattled inside her chest. Emma grimaced upon hearing the disturbing sound of pooled blood bubbling with each exhale. The normally beautiful elf was pale, a sickly yellow painting her cheeks where a healthy blush should have sat. She was choking as Emma slowly approached and Tarma wordlessly dipped a small pail beside her cheek. Arathea turned her head to cough out a thick gob of blood, strings of red saliva oozing from her lips. Emma leaned over so that she could inspect Arathea's head. The whole side of her forehead was an angry dark color, blue and yellow already tinged around the borders. Blood was matted into her pale, brown hair.

"Oh," Emma whispered in horror and brought a fist to her lips.

Tarma placed her hand on the human's shoulder and sighed. "Thanron brought her into the kitchens for water, but," the aged elf sighed again and Emma turned to find her eyes full of tears. "She was in too much pain to be moved."

Fenris pushed the two women aside and stepped to bend over Arathea. "Stop gawking and give her the potion," he growled as a gauntleted hand reached into his armor to retrieve the salve.

"Potion?" Tarma echoed with wide eyes. "You have a healing potion?

Fenris ripped off his metal claws and pulled the vial's cork out with his teeth. He spit it onto the ground and dipped a finger inside to gather the clear paste.

"Fenris," Tarma pressed, worry lining her features, "a potion is no salve. The master will discover its absence and-"

"Emma was given passage."

"What...?"

The moment Fenris's finger touched Arathea's skin, she cried out and squirmed away from his touch.

Fenris's eyes softened and he gently stroked a knuckle across the elf's cheek. "Be still, Ara," he murmured. "You will feel better soon." Fenris carefully passed his coated finger over Arathea's wound, whispering comforts as she weeped. After Fenris glazed her head in a thick layer of salve, Arathea's face began to unknot around the edges, though the blood speckled coughs still wracked her body.

"Potion," Fenris grunted, reaching blood stained fingertips in Emma's direction. Emma had already poured the red fluid into a shallow bowl so that Arathea could more easily sip. Fenris clasped the bowl and brought it to Arathea's quivering lips. He tilted the potion into her mouth and frowned when she whimpered at the pain of swallowing. Arathea sipped slowly with eyes trained on the bowl's hollow and red potion streaming down her chin.

The injured elf closed her eyes as she finished the last drop, relief now relaxing her tightened brow in earnest. She sighed and unlocked her rigid joints, resting loosely against the table.

"How do you feel?" Fenris asked softly as he searched Arathea's slackening features.

"Better," she mumbled, blood still gurgling in her speech. "Tired."

"Thank goodness for you, Emma." Tarma smiled through tears. _"Ana min va helm," _she murmured, rubbing Emma's shoulder with a withered hand. Though she did not understand the Dalish words, Emma's rampant heart slowed upon hearing them. And a warmth that had been absent all evening filled her chest.

She turned to grin at Fenris, who was still standing over Arathea. Emma's smile slowly slid from her face as she took in the sight of him. Fenris's eyes were drenched in sadness, though absent of tears. He was crying dryly, Emma realized. She watched the elf's broad back shudder as he brought a hand to cover his face, the other clenched into a tight fist with tendons jumping as it shook.

Emma took a step toward him. "Fenris," she whispered as fear crept into her body, slashing away at the warmth that found its home just moments ago. "Fenris, what is it…?"

"He's been frightened," Tarma explained sadly, "I didn't-" her voice dropped to a whisper. "I hadn't the slightest hope she'd make it. And Ara is a dear friend to Fenris."

"No," Fenris croaked, lifting his face from his hand with a tortured grimace, "that's not-"

The door to the kitchens burst open and everyone whirled around in surprise stare at the intruder.

Larus wandered inside the room, glancing about with wide eyes. "What's all this about?" he demanded with more curiosity than authority as he examined the large number of elves. The blonde magister's gaze fell upon the elven slave who lay on the table, not realizing her to be the punished wine spiller. "Some sort of elf ritual?"

Emma stood before Arathea's sleeping form, holding an arm out protectively. "Can we help you, Lord Larus?"

"I was just coming down for some wine, thought maybe it'd be in…" he trailed off distractedly and raised himself on his toes to see over Emma's blocking shoulders, "What have you got there?" Recognition finally filled his features. "Is that the slave from earlier? I'd forgotten about it." Larus took a long stride forward, dark eyes filling with interest. "That was a nasty spell," he spoke, ignoring the gawking elves, and shook his head. Not in disapproval, but rather in praise. "I was surprised he used such a...must have had a bad day." Larus raised his brows and peeked over Emma's shoulder again. "Though, the elf _did _have it coming," he added with a shrug.

"The wine isn't here," Emma snapped, openly glaring at the magister. "Would you like to be taken to the wine cellar?"

"No," Larus answered casually and acknowledged the others for the first time. "You," he pointed to Saerwen, a middle-aged elven woman who worked as one of the castle's culinary hands, and motioned for her to exit with a waving hand, "fetch me the feast's wine."

"Right away, messere." Saerwen hurried from the kitchens. Larus watched her retreat with a distant smile before returning his gaze to Emma and the intrigue that rested upon the table.

Emma continued to stand defensively before her injured friend and gage the magister with hard eyes. "Saerwen will bring the wine to your chambers," she said coolly, hinting for Larus to take his leave.

"Mm," Larus paced slowly to the table. Emma squared her shoulders when he neared, lifting her chin in resolution. Larus rolled his eyes and pushed at her shoulder with the back of his hand, "Step aside. My curiosity will be sated."

"Don't touch her," Emma growled, swiping his hand away.

"Hmmph."

Larus leaned over the sleeping woman with his hands braced against the table's edge. Emma flinched when he lifted a hand to the elf's face, but stopped from voicing her string of threats as he merely lowered two fingers above Arathea's mouth to inspect her breathing. The blonde magister then gently clasped Arathea's wrist in his hand, pale thumb pressed against her pulse point to examine her heart rate. Larus heaved a disappointed sigh and dropped her hand to thud against the table. Emma stared at the still hand, a slow and heavy panic rising through her throat.

"Shame, really," Larus mumbled softly, "She would have been a good bedding."

"'Would have'?" Emma whispered, dazedly shaking her head. "Did you say…"

"Would have, yes. As in she won't be, anymore. As in she's-"

"Dead?"

Emma whirled on her heels to watch the changes in Fenris's face, the horror that mirrored hers. There was no shock or fear, but rather a blank sadness. Emma realized with a crippling dread that he had already made the sad discovery.

"Well, dying."

Emma turned slowly to meet Larus's eyes. When she found truth in the black orbs, she let out the breath she had been holding and leaned against the table for support. She stared at the sleeping Arathea. "We have been administering healing potion and will continue to do so. She'll be okay."

"No...Emma, was it? No potion can help her now. She has moments left."

Emma swallowed her fear this time, knowing that she would be of no use to her friend while panicking, when she still lay breathing. "You seem to know a lot about it," Emma reflected aloud as she collected her thoughts. "Just by her breath, her beat, her sight. You're a healer?"

Larus winced as Emma spoke the last word, eyes hardening as he opened his thin lips in reply. "It is one of my strong suits, yes." He flushed in a strange way, but Emma stored the observation a for later pondering.

"Can you heal her?"

"It's not a matter of being able," Larus smirked. "Why should I help an elven slave who disrespected the Archon's son? In Danarius's home, no less. How does that make _him_ look? Like he can't manage his slaves."

"Please, Larus," Emma whispered, taking a step towards him.

The blonde magister flinched at her plea, and leaned away from Arathea, as if fearing she'd start begging, as well. "You still haven't answered my question," he said with less mocking in his voice.

"Help her, because she was only trying to be of use," Emma's voice shook as tears spilled from her eyes. "Help her, because she's our friend." Emma glared at him through her sadness. "Help her, because you're a healer."

Larus was staring at her with an unnerved expression and took a step back from Arathea. He tried to smile, to be the condescending magister, his dark eyes leaving her face and searching the room for something to grapple. Emma scrutinized his desperate features and watched in awe as they tried to hide the truth.

The young woman's tear-streaked face slackened in awe as she came to the realization. "You _want _to help," she said slowly. "You didn't come here for wine."

Larus jolted and stared at her with eyes full of fear, relief, guilt, and so many other conflicted feelings. He was wrought with emotion over the injured elf, wanted to save her. The magister wanted to leap to Arathea's aide, had been looking for her. Larus didn't expect so many to witness his good deed and tried to cover it up with sly smiles. He wanted Emma to beg so everyone could see it wasn't his own idea.

"We won't tell," Emma promised. "Just save her."

He didn't say another word and instead leaned back to the sleeping Arathea and began to work immediately. Like a dam breaking, water gushing through, he was waiting for this moment. Larus opened her robes to reveal her chest. Emma gasped at the sickening bruises that had spread across Arathea's body. Purple, dark, blood clotting.

"Festering already," Larus murmured as he examined the wound. "Nasty spell." Emma was glad to hear an absence of the earlier praise in his repeating statement.

The magister lowered his palms so that they hung just above Arathea's bruised chest. A hazy blue was released from his fingers, which began to calm Emma simply from the sight of it. The familiar, innocent magic of healing. Larus's fingers danced across Arathea's body, cloaking her body in the pleasant, sparkling blue.

"She'll be fine," he said, eyes trained on his work, "I'll need some time in order for her to be moved before morning."

Emma nodded, though she wanted to wrap her arms around his hunched form. She felt full to bursting with relief and joy. Tarma watched his work, beside herself with the night's many changes, a soaking handkerchief pressed against her nose.

"She'll need to rest for at least a week," Larus continued softly. He turned to fix eyes crowded with urgency upon Emma, his hands still hovering over the sleeping elf. "Keep her out of Demetri's sight. He won't have expected to see her alive and will not be pleased if he does."

"Yes," Emma agreed, wiping her hand across her wet cheeks. She gazed at him with complete warmth, causing the man's gaze to return uncomfortably to his ministrations.

"Larus, I don't know how to express the extent of my gratitude."

"There's no need," the magister replied with a sheepish smile, pink marking his cheeks. "I'm a healer."

vVv

Emma stepped out of the room after being forced to leave by Larus, who insisted he worked best when a roomful of elves and a talkative girl weren't breathing down his neck. When she exited the room, she found Fenris leaning against the opposite wall.

"Hello," she said and laughed lightly at how simple it sounded after the night's events.

Fenris's lips twitched, but his face remained a blank canvas. "Hello."

"Did you need something?"

"Yes," Fenris grunted, pushing from the wall and crossing the corridor. He stood above her, head bent to meet her eyes, and stared at her through dark lashes. In that breath stopping way of his. Emma's heart began to hammer against its bone cage. "I needed to tell you something."

She fought the urge to break away from the elf's heavy emerald stare and forced her gaze to remain focused. "Yes?"

"You were very…," Fenris's eyes drifted across her face as he searched for a fitting word, "good today. Because of you, Ara lives. She would have died if the potions hadn't reached her in time, and would have died again if you hadn't convinced Larus to heal her. That coward would have waited for a moment alone with her, and by then it would have been too late."

Fenris's features tightened as he ground his teeth. "I couldn't have done it," he rumbled, "and she would have died. I wouldn't have been able to kiss Danarius if I had a choice."

"I didn't have a choice."

Fenris smiled at her, but it was full of pain and a crushing guilt that made Emma's stomach ache. "I would have considered it as such."

"Fenris," Emma whispered, reaching a hand to touch his tortured face. The elf drew away from her with apologetic eyes.

"I'm sorry," she said. For trying to touch him. For his pain. For his guilt. For his sadness.

"Don't be. It's not your fault."

"It's not yours, either."

Fenris started at the words, staring at the human in pained awe. He opened his mouth to say something, but no sound escaped.

vVv


	15. Me, as well

vVv

It was strange for Emma to return to her everyday tasks the very next morning. So different was the night before, in a lavish gown, carving into a roasted boar, conversing with the lords and ladies of Tevinter. She was more than happy to leave the company of rich clothes, food, and people, to delve back into her modest life as a slave. Dust was predictable, marble didn't kiss her, and bed sheets didn't cast deadly spells. This was the life she had come to know over the past few months. And she prefered it to the other.

Emma was towing her tattered rag and pail of water toward Danarius's study to begin dusting the main floor, smiling at the familiarity of dirt and wet fingers. The study was stagnant and musty when Emma entered. She set her cleaning tools on a nearby end table so she could open the window and let some fresh air inside. The young woman took a step forward and stopped short.

Danarius was staring at her, eyes crowded with fury and hands clenched into fists atop his desk. Emma frowned in confusion at his apparent anger. What had she done to upset him? She had received permission to use the potions, so Danarius couldn't be mad if he had heard rumor of Arathea's recovery. Emma had been under the impression that he did not care whether the elf lived or died, so long as his fiance's lips were met with his.

Emma stood frozen as the magister's cold eyes roamed her body, his fingers curling and uncurling into tight fists. She tried to recall a time that he looked so displeased with her and supposed that last night, when she was being disobedient, was the closest she had seen. Perhaps she had done something to display such defiance again. Emma couldn't think of anything.

Danarius finally spoke in a smooth, controlled manner that eerily contrasted his furious features.

"What are you doing?"

Emma tilted her head to the side and stared at him, replying "Cleaning the study," She glanced curiously about the room to see if she had interrupted a meeting. Emma's heart stuttered when her eyes fell upon the beautiful elven man that stood in his place before the unlit hearth. Fenris was watching her with amused eyes, lips twitching in the near smile that made Emma's breath hitch inside her chest. She repressed the urge to grin at him and focused on the matter at hand. When her gaze returned to the angry magister, he was rising from his chair and crossing the room in hasty strides to stand before her.

"Emma," Danarius murmured gently, though his eyes still held anger, and reached a hand out to cup her cheek. Emma flinched at the touch but refrained from moving away. His other hand settled behind her neck as he pulled her to his face. Emma's cheeks reddened as his lips rested on her own and moved in a slow, sensual manner. Very different from the last three kisses he initiated.

Emma was not flushed because of the kiss itself, or who administered it, but rather who was watching it take place. She clenched her robes as the kiss lengthed, knowing Fenris's eyes were focused on their meeting flesh. The young woman was ashamed and irritated, but she was also intrigued by the thought of Fenris's reaction. What sort contortions were his features adopting? Were his lips pulling into a grimace? Was he relieved to witness her lips remain still against his master's? Was he jealous? Indifferent? Emma was so curious, but she couldn't bring herself to turn her eyes in the elf's direction. She feared what she might have found.

Danarius's warm tongue pushed apart Emma's lips and she leaned away, fixing him with a startled glare. The magister's eyes were still angry, but he looked more calmed after their touch. "You are my fiance," he said. Emma assumed he was referring to his rights to claim her mouth, but Danarius continued. "You are not a slave anymore."

Emma's glare fell from her face and was replaced with a look of pure bewilderment.

Danarius appeared frustrated by her baffled expression, heaving a sharp sigh. He grabbed hold of her upper arms and pushed so that she collapsed onto the chair behind. Placing a hand on each arm of the chair, he leaned in close with urgency in his voice. "Did anyone see you? The guests?"

Emma shook her head slowly, staring at him with narrowed eyes.

"Are you certain?"

A single nod. Definite, though entirely confused.

Danarius seemed to relax a bit, straightening his back and moving to pace about the room.

"That could have been disastrous," he grumbled, shooting dull daggers at Emma, "We could have lost all the face we'd saved last night."

The magister ran fingers through his gray hair, pushing it out of his eyes. "You are not a slave," he repeated, stopping his steps and pointing at her with conviction. "The others cannot see you acting as such or that's all they'll _ever _see."

He began to pace again, looking positively ruffled. Emma had never seen him so flustered over anything and it was an interesting sight to behold.

"Perhaps Larus was right," Danarius muttered, more to himself than to Emma. "I'm taking too big a risk before election, I-," He stopped in his tracks again to gaze at Emma before letting out a groan of frustration. "_Fasta vass, _maker knows why I have to have you."

Danarius turned his back to continue his pacing and Emma wondered at the same thing. Why, why, why did he want her?

He stopped and turned to face Emma again, surveying her appearance once more. "In any case, you'll need proper clothing. I've already sent for a seamstress who should arrive at dusk. She'll have brought temporaries while she works, but I'm giving you the liberty of deciding your own clothing." Danarius stopped frowning for a moment, though his lips were far from smiling. "Now, go. To the slaves' quarters. Stay hidden. Visit Arana or whatever she's called. I'll send for you later."

Emma rose slowly from her seat, collected her things, and fled the room.

She walked quickly through the halls to avoid being seen by wandering guests. Emma tried her very best to not allow the bubbling panic to dictate her actions. She would not cry, she would not curl into a ball on her cot, she would not scream into the thin mattress and think of home. She would not think of marrying the magister.

In its stead, Emma would visit Arathea's chambers and bring the latest book she'd picked just after waking with the healing elf in mind. The reading would be as much therapy for Arathea as it would be for Emma and she hurried her steps to let the calming session begin.

vVv

Emma gently nudged open the door to Arathea's chambers, the red, embroidered book clutched tight against her chest. She was surprised to find Larus hunched over the elf, hands hovering over her body.

"Larus," she spoke softly as she neared. The man inclined an ear, though his eyes remained fixed on his ministrations. "How is she?"

"More and more better by the hour," he murmured as his finger traced the congested area of her chest, "I'm going to keep her unconscious until the end of today, at least," He motioned to the sleeping potion on the small table by her cot. "She needs her rest. It will also prevent her from moving and upsetting her injuries." Emma stepped to pick it up and open its cork, sniffing curiously at the aroma. Just inhaling its scent of rain and white chestnut sent a hazy cloud through Emma's mind. She shook her head sharply and returned the potion to its home. Strong stuff.

Larus had paused his work to watch her investigation and was laughingly shaking his head as he returned back to Arathea. Emma smiled at the small exchange and knelt before the bed to observe his work. Her eyes alternated from the blonde magister's glowing palms to his concentrated face. He sighed uncomfortably after a minute, but allowed her to continue watching.

After a while of following his swaying hands, Emma broke the silence. "Danarius told me I'm not a slave anymore."

Larus snorted and rolled his eyes, "I still don't understand why he's doing this," he muttered. Emma wasn't offended by his words, but rather relaxed to hear someone else agree that the situation was utterly absurd. "And by definition, you remain a slave until Danarius formally removes the title before a judge. If you hadn't become engaged," he rolled his eyes again, "then you would have become a Liberarti, which still doesn't necessarily embody freedom. You would have been granted permission to return to Fereldon, in your case. And that would have been the end of that."

Emma's stomach tightened as he spoke. "I can't go back now," she whispered.

Larus turned to her in surprise, hands stilling. "No," he amended quickly, eyes slightly apologetic, "you can. True, you'll become a Liberarti. But once you marry Danarius, potential future Archon, you will be free. You will rule Tevinter at his side. You will become a sort of queen."

Emma stared at him.

"I'm sorry," Larus stammered, "It's a lot to take in, I'm sure. And I just dumped it on you all at once...erm," he returned his focus back to his work.

Emma stared blankly at his profile, unable to gather a single thought long enough to ponder before it left her mind. Finally, after a long time of gazing at Larus's intensive features, Emma opened her mouth.

"Is there any way for me to refuse him?"

Larus kept his eyes on Arathea, but his brow furrowed at the question.

"No."

Emma pulled herself from the wooden floor and stood, forcing her knees still and her eyes dry. There would be time for crying. "Right," she said simply, "Can you send word to me when Arathea awakens?" She lifted the book in gesture even though Larus's back was turned. "I want to read to her."

"Yes," Larus's voice was soft. "Emma?"

She paused at the door, inclining her head.

"I'm sorry you were chosen."

"Don't be," Emma replied evenly. "I volunteered."

vVv

Though Emma's appetite was lacking entirely, she found herself eager to go to the kitchens for supper and be in the company of her friends. Emma was glad that she hadn't the wardrobe to dine in the presence of nobles. She could remain with the elves, at least for tonight, and pretend all was normal and right in their little world. Danarius would provide some sort of excuse. Emma didn't have to think of the changes that were to come.

When she peeked into the crowded kitchens, Emma was pleased to find that Danarius had anticipated her eating in the kitchens and sent down her usual heaping platters of food. Everyone was eating in good spirits, pleased with the lavish meal, and pleased with Arathea's recovery.

Emma entered and immediately turned to the nearby corner, unable to hold back the weary smile that stretched her lips as she caught sight the broody elf. Upon meeting her gaze, Fenris gestured to the plate of food that rested on the table's edge. Emma was pleased that their new dynamic would not cease even though she lost the fight against Danarius's affection. None of Fenris's advice would save her now. She was to be married. Perhaps the elf just wanted her company. Or knew that she wanted his. Either way, Emma's heart hammered in her chest as he motioned impatiently for her to near.

She walked over to him, smile broadening into something a little more alive.

"Fenris," she greeted quietly as she leaned against the table before him. She waited in anticipation for the husky, rumbling,

"Emma."

"Busy day?" she asked curiously, unable to think of anything else to say.

The elf shook his head and bit into a lump of apple streusel bread. He started to close his eyes and appreciate the taste but stopped himself before Emma could giggle. Fenris swallowed thickly, fingers prying off another bite from the bread, "Danarius entertained guests all day after you left," he spoke with eyes that remembered the dullness of it, "Politics. You."

Emma scrambled to switch the topic, "Will we still be able to use the baths with the guests…? I can't until I get new attire."

"I won't be able," Fenris grunted in annoyance, "The mages would be outraged to learn that an elf bathed in the same water."

"That's ridiculous," Emma snorted. She imagined the white lines that had swirled around the hard muscles of his tan chest, the perfect curves of his arms, the tendons the moved beneath his hand as he tapped a finger against the bath's ceramic edge. Who wouldn't want to bathe in the same water as such a beautiful creature?

Fenris nodded once in agreement, popping the torn piece of bread into his mouth. He glanced at the food on the table and tilted his head toward it in a gesture for Emma to eat.

"Not hungry," she replied with a shake of her head.

Fenris swallowed, brow furrowing. "Eat."

Emma shook her head and mirrored his frown. "I'm not hungry at all."

"You didn't eat breakfast, either."

"I wasn't hungry then, and I'm not hungry now."

Fenris leaned to pick up the plate and examine its spoils. His fingers plucked a piece of potato, smothered with melted cheese and held it in front of her.

"Fenris," Emma hissed. "I am not hungry."

He smirked and waved the food under her nose, letting the scent of hot cheddar waft into her senses. Emma blushed as her stomach betrayed her and let out a long, low grumble. The elf raised a brow and rubbed the food against her mouth.

"_Fenris, _I'm no-_ahm_!" Fenris had pushed the chunk of potato past Emma's open lips. She glared at him as she chewed. "Why are you so hell-bent on me eating?"

Fenris's laughing smirk fell slowly from his face and he dropped his gaze to the bread in his hands, peeling away at a new bite.

Because he knows what it's like to be hungry and it frightens him, you stupid, stupid girl. Emma wanted to kick herself. New subject.

"When did you learn how to dance?" Emma questioned and winced at how blatantly obvious her efforts in shifting the mood were.

"I was taught many years ago by Danarius," he rumbled. "He requires me to dance with the guests on occasion for amusement purposes."

"I enjoyed our dance," Emma smiled.

Fenris glanced up at the human before returning to his bread.

"Me, as well."

Emma blushed and reached for another potato chunk.

vVv

Emma left the kitchens in a better mind than when she entered. Fenris's confession of enjoying their waltz sent her into a temporary bliss that even marriage to an aggressive magister couldn't quell.

She walked quickly down the hallways, hoping to spend a little time in her own company before Danarius was to summon her.

When she turned a corner to enter the slaves' bedroom corridor, a pale hand reach out to wrap around her throat and slam her into the stone wall. Emma gasped and stared into the icy, blue eyes of a human woman.

She was bony, sallow cheeks framed with jet black hair. The woman was beautiful in a hard, sharp way. Threatening and unsettling. Emma would have known that the woman was dangerous even if her thin fingers hadn't been cutting off the oxygen to her lungs.

"_Hear this, you whorish bitch_,"her voice was a menacing snarl that quivered in hot anger, "_I don't know what you've done to ensare Danarius, but know that he is _mine. I will _tear you limb from limb _if you go through with this marriage."

Emma balked at her cold eyes as she gasped for air.

She winced as the woman pulled her from the wall and thrust her skull back against it. Black dots smattered Emma's vision, either from the lack of breathing or the blow to the head. The woman leaned close to Emma's ear, smooth voice dangerously low.

"If you don't stop this nonsense, I will make you suffer greatly. If you speak of this to anyone, I will make you suffer greatly."

"Who-are-?" Emma choked before the woman slapped her open mouth.

"I am Hadriana, filthy wench. I am Danarius's only love."

vVv


	16. Sleep here

vVv

Emma stared defiantly into Hadriana's eyes as she wriggled out of the woman's grasp. She was too startled by the sudden attack and declaration of love to draw up a suitable retort. So Emma simply shoved past her and started down the narrow hallway.

"Emma."

Fenris's gentle voice rumbled like thunder along the corridor and she turned to find the elf taking long strides toward her. His face was aggrieved and Emma assumed he had witnessed Hadriana's marriage blessing. He did not flash a single glance in the bony woman's direction, though Emma could feel the anger, the desire to hurt, rolling in waves off of him.

Hadriana's eyes turned positively feral at the lack of acknowledgement and Emma gasped as she lifted a pale hand to summon a spell. It crackled and sizzled against her palm before she sent the jets of sparks into Fenris's body. Emma stared, horrified, as the elf grimaced in pain and dropped to his knees.

"What?" Hadriana sauntered to where the elf hunched on the floor, "No hello for your favorite mistress? Is that any way to treat your superior? Mangy mutt." Her thin lips pulled into a smile as she watched Fenris's back arch and convulse, the magic violently wracking his body.

"Stop it!" Emma cried, "Please!"

She could see the pale markings around his arms begin to glow, wisps of sparkling blue coursing through their borders like blood inside veins. Fenris grunted as the pain became too great to bear and collapsed against the stone floor.

"Stop!" Emma lurched forward to cover the woman's quivering fingers with her own, yelping in pain as the sparks cracked against her skin. Hadriana wrenched her hands away from Emma and slapped her across the cheek. The angry blue eyes were brimmed with tears as she let out a satisfied snort and retreated down the corridor.

Emma sank to her knees beside Fenris's crumpled form. He was breathing heavily, a sheen of sweat against his brow. She placed a shaking hand on the elf's shoulder and he jolted, leaning away from her outstretched fingers. Emma bent her head to search his green eyes. He stared back at her, head rested against the stone, before his gaze fell to her reddening cheek.

Emma frowned sadly at the hoarseness of his voice as he struggled to speak.

"Did she…hurt you anywhere-else, before-?"

"Fenris," Emma whispered anxiously, "you were just struck by lightning!" She grimaced as he pushed himself back onto his knees with a pained grunt. "Does it hurt terribly?" Emma rose quickly and grabbed his upper arm to help him from the ground, but he gently pushed her hand away.

_Why does he always avoid my touch? Even when in need._

Emma watched helplessly as he wrestled his limbs into a stand, legs shaking beneath him. Emma bit her lip with each pained sound that escaped his mouth.

"Come," she murmured pleadingly, taking slow backward steps down the hallway toward Arathea's chambers. "We'll see Larus. He'll-"

"No."

Emma stopped. "Don't be-...Fenris, you look dreadful. Just a quick-"

She clamped her lips shut as the elf stared firmly into her eyes. "No," he repeated quietly.

"But-"

"I'm fine," Fenris sighed, running a quivering hand along his arm, "It is not a pain that lingers long." He scrutinized the place where Hadriana had struck her as he spoke. "Danarius wants you to wait in your chambers for the seamstress." His green eyes flitted back to Emma's, saying the next words with unmistakable bitterness in his voice. "He would like you to go to his chambers when you are finished. In your new attire."

"Will you be there?" Emma blushed at her own implication. Would he be there to watch Danarius quell his recent physical desires? She almost missed the elf's eyes shift to her mouth before focusing on the opposite wall. Almost. His dark brow furrowed.

"It is likely," he murmured.

"Don't look," she whispered, feeling the burning heat of humiliation upon her cheeks. "It's embarrassing."

"I won't."

Emma let out a shaky exhale, turning to walk down the hall and into her chambers.

vVv

The seamstress hurried into Emma's room within the hour, hauling an enormous leather case and a pile of thick fabric. She laid the case down on Emma's cot without so much as a grunt of greeting and wrenched upon the buckles. The seamstress was short, round, and grey, her own robes surprisingly plain in comparison to the lush material she began to pull from her case.

"Strip to your smalls," she ordered and Emma complied with startled eyes. The seamstress removed a long measuring tape and pulled at Emma's limbs, this way and that. She wrapped the length of the tape around her subject's thighs, waist, and bust, muttering her findings aloud.

The seamstress pulled a thin notepad from her robes and jotted down the measurements, before spinning on her heels to search through the leather case. She pulled a cream colored corset from the folds of fabric and Emma groaned. It had been so nice to be free of the damned device.

She gasped as the woman tightened the corset around her body, tying at the laces and pulling the air from Emma's lungs. While the seamstress was busying herself with the next step in her plot, Emma made adjustments so that her breasts weren't as close to spilling over the top. She still felt very exposed after wearing the slave's robes for so long.

"Linden, koi, and carafe," the woman muttered as she pulled three different fabrics from their home. They looked more like tasteful shades of cream, orange, and brown to Emma.

"Pardon?" Emma asked curiously.

"You're a fall," the woman explained as she held the material called "carafe" to her neck, "These colors look best on you."

"Oh." Emma raised her brows and tilted her head to see the colors against her skin, finding that they were, in fact, pleasant.

The woman spent the next hour fashioning a beautiful gown out of the colors she'd selected, yanking Emma around when she needed a reference.

After the hour was up, the woman straightened her back with a groan and swiped her plump wrist across her brow. "There!" she sighed happily with the first smile Emma had seen from her. The seamstress gathered the dress into her arms and helped Emma to step into it before fastening the back. The dress felt thick and soft against Emma's body. She was rather pleased with the outcome and she had yet to look upon it.

"Now, tomorrow we can talk 'bout what you'll be wantin' and I'll have a few gowns ready by the end of the week." She pulled a few already finished gowns from the leather case and laid them carefully out on Emma's cot. "These're your temporaries, though I think they're worthy of a keepin'."

Emma stepped to the bed and pulled apart the gowns, examining their beautiful shapes and colors.

"These are marvelous," she exclaimed, passing a hand over the embroidered bodice of a pale peach gown. "Beautiful." Emma turned to fix the woman an appreciative smile and found that she was positively beaming, cheeks ruddy with pride. The seamstress bustled about with a new determination, promising Emma to have sketches prepared before their next meeting. She would have declined and insisted that sketches weren't necessary if the seamstress hadn't seemed so excited to work and eager to please.

"You best be off now," the seamstress smiled, lifting a hand from folding at fabrics to gesture Emma's departing. "The Lord seemed in quite a hurry." She winked and Emma fought the cringe that threatened to appear as she said her goodbyes.

vVv

Emma stole frequent peeks at herself in the many mirrors as she travelled the castle. The dress turned out to be very beautiful and very...Emma. Though the ball gown was also stunning, it lacked a sort of familiarity. It was elegant and cool, so unlike its owner. Emma smiled at the fall colors against her skin, turning this way and that to admire them. They made her brown locks seem a little richer, and her amber eyes gleamed liked honey on toast. The gown was also shaped to compliment Emma's figure, dipping quietly to flatter the rumor of her breasts and hug her hips before fanning out into warm folds.

When Emma neared Danarius's chamber, the light feeling in her chest heavied a little. What waited for her beyond these doors? Larus had said she was to be Danarius's wife, that it was inescapable. When will the now inevitable occur? She inhaled a deep breath before pushing the great chamber doors open and dipping inside.

Danarius and Hadriana were speaking in hushed tones by the tall window that expanded across the far wall, an enchanting night sky sparkling just behind them. Fenris was standing in his station before the hearth, orange embers pouring their quivering light into the room. He didn't so much as twitch at her entry and kept his eyes set on a piece of night.

"Ah, here she is now," Danarius turned from his position by the window with a broad smile. The stretched features slackened as he beheld the sight of her, eyes dancing across Emma's body. He sighed and motioned for her to approach. Was that disappointment, Emma wondered? The young woman felt she looked well.

The magister took Emma's hand in his when she reached the pair, eyes shifting happily from her to Hadriana.

"This is Emma," he said, smile returning to his face, "Emma, this is Hadriana. My apprentice and niece."

"Niece?" Emma blurted in surprise.

"My late sister's daughter, Maker rest her soul."

Hadriana was gazing evenly at her, face wiped of the resentment that had contorted her features just hours ago. Emma returned the stare with a coldness she couldn't hold back. The smile that had played at her lips as she tortured Fenris was still fresh in Emma's mind. Her fingers itched to claw at the cruel woman.

"Pleased to meet you," she said coolly.

"The pleasure is all mine," Hadriana replied. "I've heard so many wonderful things about you."

Perhaps the love for her uncle was strictly familial. With her mother dead, Danarius could have become something of a parental figure in her life. Hadriana could be very close to him and want for all of his attention. Emma was bombarded by the notion that the love was not at all family related. Not after the woman had glared at Emma with such hatred and jealousy.

The young woman smiled politely at the compliment, knowing it didn't reach her eyes.

"Hadriana only arrived this afternoon," Danarius continued, oblivious to the women's contempt for each other, "Just missed the ball, love," He patted Hadriana's shoulder with his free hand. "She's been training in Orlais and will be set to return after a few months here."

A few _months_? Emma wanted to groan, but fought the urge.

"Well, we'll have plenty of time to get you both acquainted. Hadri's had a long journey and I'm sure she's exhausted."

"Yes, I'm worn to the bone," she agreed with a long exhale. Hadriana leaned in to plant a kiss on Danarius's cheek. Emma flinched when she received a chaste kiss from the woman upon her own cheek, as well.

"Goodnight, uncle. Emma," Hadriana smiled at the young woman, placing a bony hand against hers. "I'm looking forward to your addition to our family."

"Yes," Emma winced, hoping it could pass as a smile to the others.

Hadriana left them at that, closing the door quietly behind her. Emma watched her departure and knew full well that the woman would be trouble. She yelped as the hand holding hers squeezed into a tight grip and spun her around.

"Emma," Danarius murmured, "you torture me."

Emma stared at him, raising a brow. What had she done wrong now? Or worse; right.

The magister released her hand to place both of his around her face, staring deeply into her eyes.

"So much beauty."

His eyes dipped to her lips as he leaned forward to catch them in his own. He suckled hungrily across her mouth and jaw, sighing against her flesh. Emma moved her head when his tongue slid over her lower lip. Her eyes widened when he caught her face with his hand and turned it back against his mouth. Danarius immediately pushed his tongue back inside the warm cavern of her mouth and stroked her own tongue with its fleshy tip.

Emma grunted and took a step back, tripping over her own feet. She fell to the floor and the magister joined her in an attempt to stop the accidental descent. They lay sprawled out on a fur rug, with Danarius spread along Emma's body. She tried to wriggle out from under him and shifted her hips. The magister let out a soft groan as she did so and Emma blushed, realizing her error.

"Don't do _that_ again," the magister laughed quietly, though his eyes darkened in a dangerous way. "That is, unless you want to."

Emma glared at him and he chuckled again before claiming her pouting lips. His kiss was more urgent, more forceful. His teeth grazed her lips as he opened his mouth wider against hers, drawing his tongue inside with more purpose than before. Emma stiffened as his tongue met with hers again and she tried to turn away, but the magister turned with her. His hands snaked to her waist, massaging over the dress with his knuckles. Emma frowned at the gesture with a blush. It felt good.

She glanced up at the elf from her position on the floor as Danarius continued his dance with her tongue.

The elf was staring right at her, eyes deathly dark and mouth tightened into a thin line.

_You said you wouldn't look,_ Emma silently accused with a furrowing of her brow.

The elf continued to stare, eyes flitting from their mouths, to her eyes, to the hands kneading away at Emma's sides. Her face burned, but it was too late to look away. She watched him as intently as he watched her, finding that her belly heated in a strange way at the exchange. In a pleasant way. The elf's eyes were so focused, so calculating. The way they settled on her mouth, on her waist, sent a gentle fire through her veins. She may have even begun to _enjoy _the experience, Andraste guide her, when Danarius finally pulled away, panting and pushing the hair from his eyes.

"Sleep here," he commanded around breaths.

Emma shook her head firmly, eyes hard.

"I promise I won't touch you," he pleaded. "Not even a kiss. Emma, sleep here."

She pulled herself out from under the man, careful to touch him as little as possible in the process. Emma shook her head again and rose to her feet.

"Right," Danarius sighed, folding his arms against his chest, "it was fun pretending you had a choice. But you chose wrong." He turned away and faced the window. "Now strip to your smalls and get in bed. I won't even look at you, see? That's about as charitable as I'll get tonight."

Emma snorted in spite of herself. He acted like a spoiled little boy sometimes.

She considered the situation thoroughly. If she didn't do as he said, she could be punished. Now knowing the potential violence that Tevinter mages possessed, she wasn't fond of risking it. In addition, she would hate for any of the others to receiving mistreatment on her behalf, and Danarius knew how much the elves meant to her. Eventually, he would use them to have his way. As he did with Arathea, though she was glad in that instant.

They were to be married and there was nothing Emma could do about it. Perhaps, once married, Emma _would_ be free as Larus had said. And she could flee Tevinter and return to Fereldon. Marriage would only benefit her in escaping. But marriage involved certain things like _this_ to take place. Danarius promised he would not "touch her". Fat chance of that, but she did believe he wouldn't go any further than small touches.

Then, the last issue. Emma turned her head to stare at Fenris, who still remained entirely focused on her. She glared and tilted her chin in the direction of the door, urging him to turn away while she changed.

He rolled his eyes, silently mouthing, "Already seen," before turning toward the door.

Emma flushed scarlet and crawled out of her dress. Unsure of what else to do, she folded the gown and placed it on a nearby table. Emma then hurriedly stepped to the bed and peeled back the sheets, crawling into their warmth without hesitation.

Danarius glanced at her with a lopsided smile before peeling off his own robes and letting them fall in a heap to the floor. The magister lifted back the sheets on his side and slipped in, sighing at the comfort.

"This is nice," he murmured as he closed his eyes.

Emma watched Fenris remove his sword from his back. He rested it against the wall near a couch that sat before the hearth. Emma stared with wide eyes as he stripped from his armor and into a light, thin tunic and undergarments, dipping the sheets over her nose to hide a blush. _Woah!_

Emma was surprised that the elf slept here in Danarius's chambers. She supposed Danarius needed guarding at all times. Or company of another sort. Emma found a little comfort in the fact that it was much warmer in the magister's chambers than in the slaves', and that the couch appeared a lot softer than their cots. At least the elf wasn't uncomfortable in a physical sense.

Fenris carefully laid the armor beside his greatsword and settled onto the long couch. He stretched out so his feet just reached the edge, draping an arm over the side. The elf tilted his chin to pass a lengthy glance at Emma before closing his eyes. Emma watched his chest rise and fall for a long time, heart hammering painfully inside her chest.

vVv


	17. I don't know

_Thanks for being patient and awesome in general. I wanna marry all of you. Back to frequent updates. _

vVv

Emma roused from her sleep. She felt remarkably well rested, considering who accompanied her in the bed and who slept only feet away. The sight of Fenris's slow breathing, the gentle movement of his chest, and the peace on his normally rigid face, had lulled Emma into a deep sleep. She slept dreamlessly upon the soft mattress and among the warm sheets. It was the best night's sleep she had since she arrived. And possibly before that.

Emma had to squint as her eyes adjusted to the brightness of sunlight pouring in through the large window. It was such a contrast to her dank chambers, lacking in natural light no matter the time of day. Emma moaned and lifted both arms above her head, arching her back off the mattress as she stretched luxuriously. If Emma was forced to make the change of sleeping in Danarius's chambers, she felt she could become accustomed to it quite quickly. The ability to watch an unarmed Fenris was cause enough to be obedient in the matter.

With this in mind, the first thing Emma did when her eyes could be opened without being blinded was peer at the couch that had held a sleeping beauty. To her disappointment, the seat was empty.

Emma sighed and turned over in the bed. If she couldn't be seen cleaning anymore, Emma supposed she might as well sleep a while longer. What other use had she?

The young woman's heart leapt out of her chest as she discovered Fenris standing just before her. He leaned against the night table, looking positively settled. Emma wondered how long the elf had been watching her. She blushed at the thought of Fenris observing her sleeping face in the same way she had his.

His face was broken into a smirk, "Good morning, Mistress," he teased.

"Don't start that nonsense."

The elf rose his brows and Emma's heart sped up at the sight. There was something so attractive about his every movement.

"You wish me to remove your proper title." He seemed intrigued by the notion as he searched her face in thought.

"Yes," Emma sank deeper into the bed, "it's completely absurd. I'm Emma."

"Ah," Fenris leaned over her laying form into a deep bow, a playful smile playing at the corner of his lips. Emma's blood heated as the elf's minty smell flooded her senses. "Good morning, Emma."

"Good morning, Fenris," she whispered, lost in his emerald eyes. They darkened at her words and he slowly straightened his back, still staring at the young woman from beneath dark lashes.

"I must collect and deliver you to the gardens for tea with Danarius and his guests."

Emma groaned and threw her arms over her eyes. "Right this very second?"

"We leave when you dress."

She groaned once more for good measure as she kicked back the bed sheets. Emma gasped in surprise when her bare legs and stomach came into view, remembering that she had spent the night in her smalls. Fenris's eyes flashed to the bare flesh before returning to her reddening face. He snorted as Emma pulled the sheets back over her body and turned around to allow her privacy.

"I do not understand why you insist on playing this game when I have seen beyond your legs."

"Fenris!"

Emma could hear the smile in his voice as she scrambled out of the sheets.

"Do you think my memory is so poor?"

She stifled the urge to strike him with a nearby vase and instead opted to cross the room to retrieve her new dress. It lay on the table where Emma had previously placed it, along with a dainty pair of brown slippers. Curiously eying their shape, she rummaged into the fabric for her corset, pulling it out from the folds. Emma positioned the contraption around her waist and reached two hands behind her back in a vain attempt to tie the laces herself. They were too far from her reach.

Emma glanced from Fenris's turned back to the bedroom door.

"Could you send for someone to help me with this?"

Fenris inclined his head, but kept his gaze fixed on the swaying trees outside the great window. He shook his head once. "Unnecessary. We needn't disturb the others' duties and we haven't the time. Allow me."

Emma winced. She was wearing nothing but her smalls and the corset that covered only the bottom half of her breasts. The young woman repeated Fenris's words in her head and grudgingly supposed the elf was right. She carried no cause for modesty in the man's presence, as he had bared witness to every inch of her skin. And, Emma pondered with a gulp, he may see it again one day. If Danarius were to continue his lusty advances under Fenris's stare.

"Yes, alright. You're right." Emma turned her eyes to the floor and held the cream corset tight against her body. She felt cold and exposed. The hair rose on the back of her neck as she sensed Fenris's attention on her skin. His footsteps sounded softly against the fur rug as he padded across the room. Emma was so aware of Fenris, she could feel his nearness like an extension of herself.

She flinched when his fingers gingerly pulled at the corset, tightening it around her body. The elf's skin wasn't touching hers, but the ministrations were intimate. Fenris's touch was careful, calculating, and no more than absolutely needed. Emma gasped as he steadied a hand against her waist and drew the laces slowly, firmly. She could feel the smooth flesh of his palm against the small bare sliver of skin peeking beneath the bottom of her corset. Though his skin was cool, it set Emma's own flesh ablaze upon contact. She no longer felt cold. Not with him touching her.

Nothing Danarius had done; none of the kisses, the embraces, could compare to the effect of this simple touch. Emma was suffocating, each pull of a lace cutting off more and more of the air to her lungs. It was a slow, sweet strangling. The woman breathed raggedly through her nose, not wanting to alert Fenris to her discomfort, lest he stop. His closeness, his intoxicating scent, his touch. They all robbed Emma of air and she loved it. She didn't want it to end. And even though she was suffocating, Emma's shaky inhales brought her more relief than a thousand clear breaths could have ever done.

"Oh," she gasped when Fenris wrenched the lace a final time.

"Sorry," the elf rumbled. His voice sounded strained to Emma's ears as he tied at the laces. His fingers brushed the skin of Emma's back while he worked the laces into a bow. She closed her eyes at the small brushes. "I am finished," he stated abruptly, dropping his hands to his sides.

"Thank you," Emma mumbled lethargically, pulling herself from the reverie. She turned round to grab the dress and kept her head bent to her shaking hands. If she looked into those stupefying, green eyes now, Emma feared she would lose all of her remaining senses and throw herself at him. And that would only bring rejection. Fenris was an overwhelming creature, indeed.

Emma rifled inside the dress for its openings with a searching hand before wrestling her arms and head through. She arranged the dress about her hips, wiped away the fabric's wrinkles, and slipped her feet inside the new slippers.

"Well," Emma cleared her throat and smiled a little, eyes still avoiding the elf's face, "shall we be off, then?"

Fenris walked to hold the bedroom door open for Emma to pass through. He was watching her carefully. So carefully, it made Emma's heart pump faster in her chest. The elf remained closely behind her as they ambled through the sunlit corridors.

A thought gnawed at Emma throughout the entire journey. It prodded her lips apart, but she repeatedly refused to voice it aloud. Though she wanted to know the elf's answer to this thought, Emma couldn't bring herself to say it. His response could be wonderful, frightening, sad. Fenris was never what he seemed on the surface. He was the most unreadable, mysterious man Emma had ever encountered. Was she prepared to hear him? Oh, just _say _it.

"Why did you watch?"

Her eyes followed the path of the corridors as she spoke, wishing she had the nerve to turn and face him.

"I wanted to," came his simple reply.

Emma blushed at the words. "You said you wouldn't."

"I know."

"You wanted to."

"Yes."

"Why?"

"I don't know."

They descended down the main staircase in heavy silence, a palpable tension settling between them.

vVv

It was a brilliant day outside. Emma felt she could bear to be in the company of Danarius and his guests with such weather. The sky was a bright, clear cerulean with not a single cloud on its face. The flowers danced in a healthy breeze that swept around elegant curls and lavish skirts. So many colors filled the garden, drawing Emma in their welcoming embrace. The vivid greens of the fat shrubs and quivering trees framed the scene so beautifully that Emma could not help but admire it.

Danarius and his guests were seated beneath a light, cloth canopy that had been prepared for the occasion of tea. They were separated into several groups, resting around pretty, white tea tables. Each lord and lady were adorned it tasteful dresses and robes that only added to the beauty in their shape and color. Tall spires of sweets and sandwiches sat in the middle of every table, carrying more food than a whole grouping could even begin to finish off.

Seeing the amount of food roused Emma from her awed state and she was struck with a brilliant idea that should have occurred to Danarius long before her own realization. All the leftovers from this tea party, as well as every meal eaten in the house, should be delivered to the kitchens afterwards. The others had no use for it thereafter. Even when Danarius dined alone, his remaining food would be more than enough to satisfy the hunger of every elf in the castle. Emma prayed that the lack of implementing such an obvious practice was due to obliviousness and not simple refusal.

Emma strided to the tables with a newfound purpose, head held high in determination.

Danarius, Larus, and Hadriana sat around the head table. The two men were leaning into each other and muttering quiet words in private discussion. Danarius uttered something that caused Larus to choke on a mouthful of crumb cake, sending the older magister into a fit of laughter. Emma briefly wondered at how long the two had been friends, as they seemed very close. Hadriana watched closely with smiling eyes, lips closed around a porcelain tea cup.

She approached, curiously watching the three mages. Emma would have wordlessly sat down into the unoccupied chair that awaited her, but knew that today was not the day to be cold and unfamiliar. If change was to be made around the castle, Emma would need to be as polite and friendly as possible.

Emma stopped at Danarius's side and placed a firm hand on his shoulder. The magister jolted in surprise, having not been aware of her approach, and turned to stare up at the young woman. Emma considered kissing her fiance's cheek in greeting, but could only manage a broad smile.

"Good morning, Danarius," she kept her voice light and sunny, "Lord Larus, Hadriana. And it _is_ a very good morning, is it not?"

Danarius searched her beaming face for a moment before letting out a loud, pleased laugh.

"Good morning indeed, my flower," he smiled back at her with a fierce sincerity that made Emma shift uncomfortably on her feet.

Sometimes, it seemed the man truly loved her.

"Come, sit," Danarius cooed, collecting the hand that rested on his shoulder and guiding her to the empty seat beside him. "We were just speaking of you."

"Oh," Emma smiled as she settled into her seat. Tarma appeared just beside her as soon as Emma's backside met the chair's padding. The elf clasped a teapot and slowly dispensed some of its contents into a delicate cup, no bigger than Emma's hand. Tarma then placed it onto a little saucer and set another small, bare plate beside it. She gestured to the many food items before bowing with a polite smile.

"Thank you very much." Emma grinned back warmly. She was glad to see Tarma, as always, and returned the bow with a bending of her head. The older woman bowed once more before backing away.

Danarius was watching her intently, fingers idly picking at a corn muffin. Hadriana was poorly hiding a condescending smile behind her teacup. Larus stifled a laugh through an unconvincing bout of coughing into his fist. Emma glanced around to find many pairs of staring eyes. Some faces were curious, but most were disapproving. Emma found Demetri sitting among a table nearby, and he looked positively disgusted. Apparently, Emma's cordiality was only approved for their ranks.

It was going to be a long morning.

vVv


	18. You are one of a kind

vVv

Danarius launched into a long discussion with Hadriana about her progress in Orlais, promising to train with her when they shared a free hour.

Emma listened closely, not fabricating her intrigue. She was always fascinated with magic and loved to watch her father and sister practice spells behind the house. Emma remembered that her father had detected Bethany's natural skill for nature bending at a young age and urged her to manipulate leaves and twigs scattered outside during lessons. This is what is known as a Force Mage. Emma would dance in the array of leaves that her sister collected into the air, laughing as she twirled. By the time Emma had left, Bethany was almost able to draw energy from plants and rocks, using them to apply pressure to targets. Her hope was to one day draw enough energy from the earth to create a staggering blow, but it would take much time. Perhaps she was close now. Emma missed Bethany.

Hadriana was no Force Mage. Like her master and many of Tevinter's mages, Hadriana studied blood magic. Emma was fascinated with its popularity in Tevinter. In Fereldon, it was greatly feared and deemed an ungodly form of magic. Those who practiced such spells were corrupt and foul, consulting with demons at the risk of their lives and the lives around them. Here, in this strange place, it was perceived differently. It was admired. Sought.

"You just have to work on your Pull," Danarius said as he snapped his fingers. Imraddon, the only male elf that waited on dining guests, stepped forward to pour the magister another cup of tea. He retreated with a bow as Danarius brought the ceramic to his lips. Lowering the cup to his saucer, Danarius continued the assessment, "You draw too quickly, you are too eager. Blood magic is not about aggression or haste. Blood is a slow thing when it is working well. It is a syrup that idles. We must treat it the same with our movement. Grace and delicacy. Understand?"

"Yes, uncle."

"Don't fret, love." Danarius smiled and leaned his weight on his elbows, propping his chin on his palm. "The Pull is not an easy thing to master and you are doing well."

Larus snorted. "That's rich, coming from _you_. You perfected the Pull in a damned year."

"Is that not long?" Emma inquired curiously.

Danarius grinned as he bit into a small, square sandwich, eyes trained on Fenris. The elf was standing against the same tree as when Emma and Danarius had visited the gardens for the first time.

"'Is that not long?'" Hadriana echoed with a humorless laugh, unable to Pull the bitterness from her tone.

Larus rolled his eyes in what Emma was learning to be a frequent habit of his. "Most mages _never _learn the Pull, Emma. It is extremely difficult. The majority of mages perfect the Pull by the end of their magicking days."

"Oh, my," Emma mused, staring at the accomplished magister's profile as he chewed. "Well done, Danarius."

He turned to Emma and released a surprised laugh. "Why, thank you, my dear."

"Does using the Pull harm your opponents less?" Emma questioned him, unable to hold off her interest. Using blood magic without aggression or haste must make the spells less gruesome. Emma was so accustomed to associating its practice with the violent thrusting of arms and trembling hands. As Demetri had demonstrated during the feast. To think the act could be done gracefully and that it would change the results of the spell.

"No," Danarius answered with a slight smile, "it harms them much more."

Emma stared at him, a small shiver threatening to wrack her body. She quelled the urge and returned the smile with one of her own before reaching at a sandwich.  
"Thank you!"

Emma and the guests turned to the source of the outburst. A young woman was bending her head into a small bow as a frightened Imradon withdrew his hand from her teacup. Emma recognized the woman's flaming red hair immediately. It was the same woman that spoke to Emma of books during the feast. Emma mirrored the guests' surprised expressions, though without the cringes of horror.

The woman turned to the staring faces and blushed before tossing her bright hair in a defiant gesture. "What is it?"

Demetri, who sat at the woman's same table, glared at her with pure venom in his eyes. "What causes you to be so distasteful, Mirima?"

Mirima frowned at his question, lips puckered in a small pout. "Distasteful? I was only doing as Emma did."

"What possessed you to 'do as she did'?"

"They are _her_ slaves, brother. I will treat them as she deems appropriate. And she thanked them for their service and bowed."

"They are not her slaves yet. By law, she is still one herself."

"Oh, Demetri," Mirima sighed as she stroked the ends of her red locks, "you are the distasteful one."

"My apologies, Danarius. My sister forgets herself."

"None are necessary, my Lord." Danarius's voice was tight with anger, though the others may not have been able to detect it as Emma was. She caught the hateful glint in the magister's eyes as he smiled at the Archon's son. Demetri smiled back in a way that would be better described as a leer and turned to his tea. Conversation resumed and Emma decided that she needed to speak with Mirima. Soon. She saw a very likely friend in her.

"That was rude," Larus murmured as he leaned over the table to Emma and Danarius.

"Mirima or Demetri?" Danarius muttered into his tea mug.

"Both."

"Mirima likes to start trouble," Danarius sighed. "She knew what it would spark in her brother."

"I agree."

"She has always been contradicting, that one."

"Yes. Smart, too."

"More than she lets on."

"And Demetri." Larus rolled his eyes after glancing at the man over his shoulder. "Calling your fiance a slave. In front of everyone. He knows we are trying to break down that perception-"

Demetri's hiss cut through the discussion, "_Mirima, _where are you going?"

"To talk to Emma, brother," Mirima's voice was just behind Emma and she turned to stare up at the young woman.

"Hello again," Mirima chirped with a smile.

"Hello."

"Care to join me for a walk, Emma? Lord Danarius? Your wedding is of interest to me, I wish to discuss the details. And it is such a beautiful day."

Emma beamed at her with sincerity. "A walk would be marvelous, thank you. Danarius, do come." This would give her the chance to discuss the elves' food matters in more privacy.

Danarius did not seem surprised by the sudden invitation as he pulled himself from his chair. Emma grabbed his hand and laced her fingers into his before he could do the deed himself. The magister stared at her for a moment, as if calculating something difficult, before snapping his fingers. Fenris was by his side in seconds. And Emma's heart beat a little faster.

The four began their stroll into the gardens, following the long path that snaked through the tall shrubs, low hanging trees, and rows of bright flowers. Mirima talked of simple wedding details; Emma's dress, the cake, the ceremony itself.

"Most important of all; when will you be having the ceremony?"

Danarius glanced at Emma as they walked, eyes trailing from her face to her hair to her autumn schemed dress.

"In the fall," he smiled. "The colors would suit my flower, would they not?"

"Most beautifully," Mirima agreed, "A wise choice, ser."

Emma smiled to hide her pained grimace. "That is only a month away," she laughed, hoping it didn't sound hysterical. Her fingers tightened around Danarius's so that he could not feel their shaking. "Eager, aren't we? How will we find the time to plan everything?"

"We will hire many hands to help," Danarius assured her.

"It is too soon for my family to make the voyage. They don't even yet know I am engaged."

"I will send word of our engagement, though I fear you are correct in their inability to attend the ceremony."

"Perhaps, _next_ fall would be better."

Danarius's eyes turned cold as he pulled Emma closer to his side. He brought a hand to her hair and twirled a brown lock around his finger. He leaned in to her ear and murmured dangerously low, "Perhaps not." Danarius kissed her cheek before withdrawing and returning his focus to the scenery.

"Ah," Mirima sighed, smiling warmly at the two of them, "new love. I should like to be married myself, soon. Though I have not yet found a man worthy of partaking in the act."

"The time will come," Danarius promised, patting her shoulder with his free hand, "How is your father fairing?"

Mirima's eyes saddened a fraction, almost undetectable above the smile on her lips. "He is better. They say our prayers are reaching him."

Danarius nodded and patted her once more. "Know that mine are among them."

"Thank you."

A small silence stretched between the three as they reached the end of the path and stood where they had started in front of the cloth canopy. Larus was refusing a refill of tea from Tarma while rubbing his stomach. Hadriana was glaring at Emma's hand, inside her uncle's.

Now was Emma's chance. While they were nearly alone.

"Lady Mirima," Emma said gently, turning to face the young woman, "it was so nice to talk to you. I hope you seek me in conversation again, as I will seek you."

"Of course," Mirima smiled before rejoining her brother at his table.

Danarius was stepping to return to his own table when Emma pulled gently at his arm to stay him.

"A word?" she requested with a soft voice.

Danarius leaned in close, looking intrigued. "What is it, my flower?"

"It's just that," Emma didn't know how to begin her speech. She had had it all planned out in her head just moments ago. But now the gravity of her request was weighing down her confidence. Emma's shoulders drooped as she recalled Demetri's words.

"_By law, she is still one herself."_

A slave. A slave would never dream of asking such a request for himself, let alone for every slave in the house. But what is the burden on Danarius, to give up remains that he has no use for? Emma had intended to argue her case, but the cunning words grew soft on her tongue. She felt Fenris's nearness, knowing he was catching every word.

"I would like to ask a favor," Emma began, turning her eyes to the short grass.

"What is the favor?" Danarius replied without so much as a pause to ponder the idea of a slave asking a favor of her master. Though, supposedly in the magister's eyes, she was already a free woman. Free by his definition, that is. Nevertheless, the immediate acceptance was encouraging and Emma continued with a bit more conviction.

"The food that is not eaten," Emma gestured to the spires of food on each table, all of which were still very much stocked with food, "I request that it be taken to the elves. And every meal after."

"Why?" Demetri's tone was not offended in any way. Merely curious.

"Because their current food portions are not enough to satisfy their needs."

"They are sufficient," he said simply with a small shrug of his shoulders. "A slab of bread and cheese is enough to keep any man alive."

"But not enough to keep the pangs of hunger from his belly."

Danarius eyed her with that same curiosity, stroking the back of her hand with his thumb.

"You pity them?"

"I pity anyone who is hungry. But they are my friends, yes, so I care even more."

"I suppose it wouldn't hurt to give them our waste," he murmured, staring focusedly on a quivering blade of grass. "The idea never occurred to me."

So he wasn't blatantly refusing his slaves the extra food. Danarius was simply raised in a place that did not require or even cause him to think of such details like comfort for slaves. Emma was beyond the stars with happiness. She wanted to turn around and share the victory with Fenris and gage his reaction. What sort of face was he making now? Was he happy? Surprised?

"What do I get out of this?" Danarius smiled with a squeeze of her hand.

Emma stared at their joined hands. "More work," she murmured, "for they will be stronger."

"Their work is already sufficient."

"It is the right thing to do."

"It is the right thing to do in _your _eyes. It would be considered the _wrong _thing to do by most of the people here before you. Hunger is often a way to control slaves. Many will starve their slaves to punish them or train them to be docile and obedient. I never used this method. I never needed to. Weak or dead slaves are of no use to me and I paid good money for them. But I don't disrespect the practice. That said, why should I provide them with more than they need?"

"Because…," Emma could not find a reason beyond what is moral and just. She had not thought of additional justifications.

"I'm saying you need to give me a favor in return."

Emma lifted her eyes from their hands and stared at his face, now only inches from hers. What did he want from her? Emma knew. He would ask for kisses that seemed real, touches full of fabricated love; perhaps more.

"What is it you want?" she asked, staring into his icy blue eyes as they traced the lines of her face.

"I want your company," he answered with a low voice.

'Her company'? So he _did _want between her legs as payment for feeding his slaves.

"Before bed each night, of which you'll spend in my chambers, I ask that you read to me. Every night. Make sure to select a book that you have never read yourself."

Emma's mouth was parted in bafflement. Read to him. Read to this magister every night. That is his request and not her body. Danarius planted a quick kiss on her separated lips before returning to the tables.

"You are free to go," he called over his shoulder.

Emma stared after him.

Fenris stepped out from behind Emma to follow Danarius. Before the elf left her side, he slid a tan hand across her arm. She blushed and glanced up to find Fenris grinning and shaking his head.

"You are one of a kind, Emma," the elf chuckled. "I shall see you for Storytime."

vVv


	19. You may eat now

vVv

Tarma caught Emma before she left the gardens and informed her the seamstress awaited in Danarius's chambers.

"The master told me you were to be staying in his chambers from this day on."

"He told me the same."

Tarma glanced over her shoulder to see if she was needed by the guests before dropping her voice to a whisper, "Are you alright?"

"Oh, yes," Emma hastily replied with a wave of dismissal, "He's not so bad once you get used to him."

Tarma smiled sadly and opened her mouth to say something, but decidedly clamped it shut. The aged elf patted Emma's hand briefly before returning to the guests.

vVv

_What was she going to say? _emma thought as she climbed the main staircase.

Emma knew.

She was going to say that Danarius _was _bad. That he was not the man Emma thought him to be, just as Fenris continued to insist. Emma just wished the magister would reveal his true self soon so that she could go on hating him with the others. But with the way he catered to Emma, pampered her, heeded her requests, seemed to _love _her, made it hard to be cold.

She clambered inside Danarius's chambers, the feel of covered heels still strange on her feet after going so long without them. Emma removed the brown slippers and placed them by the magister's house shoes.

The seamstress was sitting at a large oaken table, the enormous leather case open before her. Her arms were elbow deep in the case's contents as she rifled through fabrics and muttered unintelligibly. When Emma approached, she noticed a pile of sketches and brought a hand to study their shape.

"Are these the dresses?" she asked curiously, grabbing the stack of parchment.

The seamstress grunted her confirmation and pulled a pin cushion from her case.

The first sketch displayed a dress of delicate proportions. It bore short, frilled sleeves and a simple skirt that flowed long, starting from the chest. It was beautiful and plain, just as Emma preferred. She flipped the page to find another beautiful dress with long drooping sleeves that would hang from Emma's forearms. The skirts resembled the first with their sleek, long shape.

"These are extraordinary," Emma breathed as she flipped through the sketches, inhaling as each dress took her by surprise in its beauty. They were all uncomplicated and elegant. How did the seamstress manage to peg Emma's preferences before she even knew them herself? "I love them all." She lowered the sketches and stared at the plump woman who was threading a needle with a sheepish smile. "My name is Emma. May I ask yours?"

The seamstress pricked herself with the needlepoint when she flinched at Emma's words. She stared at Emma, the wounded finger to her lips. "You're a sweet girl," the seamstress said, smiling around her finger, "My name's Enna."

"Enna?" Emma giggled. "People shall have to speak very clearly when in both our company."

Enna smiled and shook her round head. "We'll know it's you 'cause they won' be addressin' _me_ that way." She returned her gaze to the case and removed a glazed cloth from its depths, wrapping it around her finger. "But you can call me En."

"Alright. En."

"Right then, Emma. I'm ready when you are."

The two set to work in designing and crafting Emma's new wardrobe. The young woman helped with the little tasks that she was able to attend, like simple sewing and measuring. She watched the first sketched dress become a reality through just a couple hours. Emma and En discussed their lives as they worked. Emma told of her family in Fereldon and all her favorite memories of them. En did the same, sharing stories of her son of ten years.

En worked fast and sure, the weight on her fingers not quelling the fierce agility of her fingers. When Emma tried on the first dress, it felt like liquid on her skin, light and creamy and so beautiful. The pair laughed as Emma danced about the room, admiring herself in the mirror. The sleekness of the dress accented her shape and made her feel elegant and graceful.

One altercation was made to all the dresses. Their colors. The dresses that had been imagined with creams, oranges, and browns were now designed with greens, yellows, and pinks.

Spring colors, the furthest season from fall.

Emma didn't think the magister would move the wedding to accommodate her new colors. But this was her way to quietly protest his decision. And she happened to like green.

vVv

By the time they completely finished Emma's first dress, she was summoned to join Danarius and his guests for the evening meal. She said her goodbyes to En and agreed to meet her at noon the next day. Emma looked forward to it. She liked assisting En and it was something to do away from the mages.

Emma prayed that there would not be a repeat of the last dinner she attended with Danarius and his obscure guests. If another elf were to be harmed, Emma feared she would not be able to stop herself from grabbing the nearest cutlery and plunging it deep into the spellcasting hand.

At least her friends would be eating well tonight, no matter what occurred. Emma resolved to visit the kitchens right after the feast's end to make certain that Danarius's was staying true to his word.

The Maker smiled upon Emma that evening, keeping supper quiet and pleasant. She ate happily, free of the pangs of guilt she had felt when eating what the others could not. Now the elves could take their pick of the feast and would not have to worry a lick about rations. They would be able to enjoy three meals a day, if they wanted. Every single elf, with the amount of food they would soon be raking in.

For every bite she took, Emma imagined Fenris's blissful face doing the same. Enjoying food. She loved to watch him sigh as he ate, heart pounding when he closed his eyes and chewed slowly to relish the taste. Emma wondered if the elf would indulge in larger portions and forget his cautions to eating completely. After all, he had heard, himself, that uneaten food would be sent to the kitchens after every meal.

Danarius leaned toward Emma and placed a hand on her thigh, beneath the table.

"Do you like the Archon's daughter?" he murmured.

Emma's eyes flashed to the red-haired woman who was chatting away to her brooding brother. Demetri showed no sign of hearing a single word as he stared at his plate.

"Yes, Lady Mirima is very kind."

Danarius squeezed her knee and lowered his head so that his mouth was at her ear.

"It would be immeasurably helpful to me if you befriended the girl."

Emma turned her face so that her own lips pointed to his ear.

"You want me to appeal to her?" she asked softly. "So that she may guide her father and brother in overlooking our taboo marriage?"

Danarius nodded once quickly, eager, Emma's lips brushing his jaw as he did.

"Why should I assist you in your political game?"

The magister turned to fix wide eyes on Emma's face. She had never seen the man so caught off-guard. "What?" he asked with a blink. Emma's blatant defiance was baffling to him and he had not foreseen a cause for it. Especially with her being in such good spirits all day.

"I'm saying," Emma smirked as she repeated Danarius's earlier words, "you need to give me a favor in return."

Danarius stared at Emma a long moment before erupting in a loud, barking laugh that captured the attention of the entire room. Larus's fork clattered to his plate as he jolted in surprise.

"_Fasta vass, _what is it?" he snapped.

Danarius laughed harder at his friend's startlement and clutched his sides. Emma glanced at Fenris, who stood a little ways behind Danarius, watching the scene with curious eyes.

When Danarius finally caught his breath, he leaned back in his chair and sighed. A wide grin remained plastered to his face as he tilted his head in question. "And what would be your terms, my fair lady?"

"I don't know," Emma replied with a small frown, "I hadn't thought about it."

Danarius slapped a hand against the table as he broke into another fit of laughter. Larus jumped at the sudden slam and glared at him. He collected his plate into his hands and rose from the table.

"Well, that's quite enough of that," he grumbled. "I'll be off."

"Where are you going?" Danarius protested lightly, still chuckling.

"To eat in peace."

"Yes," Emma said as she, too, clambered out of her seat. "I must away, myself." When Danarius's eyes darkened with displeasure, Emma quickly added, "I still haven't picked out a book for tonight's reading." Like a child being handed a sweet just before a tantrum, Danarius's face shifted from annoyed to blithe.

"I see," he said with a smile. Danarius wiped his mouth with a napkin far too elegant to be smeared with food and rose from his chair. "I have business to attend before our reading, as well." Emma stilled for him to plant a kiss on her cheek, blushing at the number of eyes that watched him do so. Danarius glanced at the white haired elf who had also, of course, observed the small exchange. "Fenris, you may eat now."

The elf bowed and followed Emma as they exited the dining chambers.

vVv

The elves stared in shock as Tarma, Saerwen, and Imraddon carried tray after tray of food into the kitchens. When the final tray was sat upon the large table, not a single hand reached forward to claim a bite. Instead, they all glanced nervously from the food to each other's faces.

Heaving a sigh, Fenris broke the quiet stillness, grabbing a plate of food without choosing before stealing to his dark corner. After someone as wary as Fenris accepted the food, everyone else quickly took their pick of the spoils, as well.

They didn't ask who caused the bounty to be sent to them. They didn't need to. Each elf simply grabbed Emma by the arm and pulled her into a tight hug, some with eyes full of tears. Emma swallowed the thickness in her throat as she accepted their thanks. To think these people could be so overwhelmed with happiness by food. To think they lived in such a grand place and never received it.

Emma wanted very much to speak to Fenris in his corner. To spend time with him where they could both be themselves. But, as Emma made steps in the elf's direction, she saw the expression on his face. Like the others, Fenris was elated. Though, quietly so. No tears streamed down his tan face, but Emma could see the raw emotion spread across his features as he took each bite. Emma wondered when he had last eaten so delicious and plentiful a meal. With a tight feeling in her chest, Emma wondered if he ever had.

She grabbed a plate before leaving the room, deciding that Fenris should be alone for the meal. Emma shuffled down the hall to Arathea's chambers with the plate in hand. She gently knocked at the door and waited for an answer.

"Ah, um- who is it?"

"Emma. May I come in?"

"Oh, Emma! Yes!"

Emma pushed open the door with her free hand and stepped inside.

Arathea was sat up in bed, beaming at her friend. A healthy, beautiful glow was returning to the elf's cheeks, where it belonged. Her light, brown hair spilled over her shoulders and around her chest. She looked so alive again. Emma would have returned the smile with a broad one of her one, had it not been for the surprise that took its place upon seeing the person settled on the bed's edge.

"I thought you said you were-"

"Yes, well, I couldn't very well tell them what I was _really _doing, could I?"

Emma stared in awe at the scene. A heaping plate rested on the healer's lap. Larus speared a piece of smoked salmon with his fork and brought it to Arathea's mouth. The elf parted her lips as he dipped the food inside, a small, but detectable blush across her cheeks.

So he stole away, using Danarius's laughter as an excuse, to feed Arathea? He couldn't have known that the uneaten food would be given to the elves. Larus was making certain that the recovering Arathea was fed.

"Oh, don't you look at me like that or I'll leave this instant."

Emma rearranged her adoring smile into something more neutral as Arathea protested around a mouthful.

"You can't leave yet!"

Larus flinched at the plea and dropped his eyes to the plate, scooping a forkful of peas in an attempt to hide his embarrassment. "I won't," he murmured quietly as he lifted the fork to her lips. Arathea chewed and swallowed quickly before opening her mouth to accept the bite.

"I wish we had food that was easier for your body to digest. Like soup."

_We?_

"Don't wish that. This is the best food I've had in my entire life!"

Larus's features contorted into the same expression Emma imagined she had made while watching Fenris eat his own meal.

Suddenly, Emma felt like she was intruding.

"Well, I'm so glad to see you're doing better, Ara." Emma set her plate down on the small stand beside her bed. "There's more, if you two are still hungry."

"Thank you," said Larus.

"Thank _you_ for taking such good care of Arathea."

Emma wished them both a good night and left to select a book for the reading session.

Her fingers trailed across the spines as she scoured the library for the perfect book. She did not care so much for the magister's approval, but rather Fenris's. Emma figured he did not experience a lot of opportunities for entertainment and wanted to choose something she believed he would enjoy.

Something with adventure, she decided. A story of adventure for the elf who had none. Something to fill his cramped life with space and wonder. She went against Danarius's rule of picking a book she had never read and chose a brilliant adventure she'd read weeks ago. It was the perfect blend of adventure, love and humor. Emma's end of the bargain was promising to be quite easy to uphold.

Once Emma had the book in tow, she allowed herself a quick soak in the baths before climbing the main staircase and to her waiting audience.

vVv


	20. Yes, Master

vVv

Danarius was scribbling away at his desk when Emma stepped into the chambers. Upon hearing the door creak shut, he glanced up from his work and fixed Emma with a tired smile.

The magister returned to scratching his dry quill against the parchment while Emma settled herself onto the couch. The very one Fenris had slept in the previous night. She felt the seat's owner burn holes into her body from his position before the hearth and lifted her head to stare back at him.

His emerald eyes flickered like candlelight as the hearth flames seemed to dance inside them. Emma watched a vein writhe inside his muscled arm as he traced the strange lines along his skin. She wanted her fingers to replace his in stroking the markings. Emma blushed at the sudden thought and dropped her attention to the hearth. Strangely enough, moving her gaze to the fire cooled the heat that had settled in her belly.

Oh, Fenris was beginning to infect her.

Danarius left his desk and shuffled slowly to the couch where Emma perched, rubbing his eyes against the back of his arm. He collapsed into the cushion beside Emma with a long sigh and stretched his arms along the seat's upper rim.

"What did we decide?" he yawned, reaching for the book. He turned it over in his hands, frowning as he studied its title. "_Akin to a Beast?_ I don't believe I read this one. Must be one of the inherited books." Danarius laid the book onto her thighs and rested his head back against the seat's cushion, closing his eyes. "Fenris? Wine."

The elf strode to the back of the room where a full bottle of wine sat ready beside two glasses. He poured the dark, red liquid into one glass and delivered it to the magister before repositioning himself at his station.

"Shall I begin?" Emma asked, stroking a hand across the book's surface.

Danarius watched her moving hand from beneath his lashes. "Yes, flower."

Emma peeled back the book's worn cover and scanned the first sentence. She glanced once at Fenris, who was staring fixedly at the book's page. Emma very much hoped he would like this book.

She licked her lips and parted them to unfold the story.

"'He was a man, akin to a beast. The villagers stared when he arrived into town one day. He was silent and serious as death. They saw his hair, thick and wild curls atop his head. They saw his arms, long and bulging with strength. They saw his eyes, gold as honey on a biscuit. But there was one thing they did not see. Every night, when the moon shone bright in the sky above, he changed. No one in the village knew just how akin to a beast he was.'"

Emma read on and unleashed the tale from its paper cage. It filled the room, whispering of the werewolf's journey to find and kill the man that had made him into a monster. She glanced up every now and then, whilst turning a page, to see the elf's reaction. She had expected distance on his face as he envisioned the story. Curiosity, at best.

Not hunger. Fenris listened to the story with his entire body, leaning close to hear every word. His eyes were intense with a need for the book. He was more engaged than Emma had thought possible. When the wolf man faced an enemy, Emma could see the faster rise and fall of Fenris's chest. When the wolf man spared in the nude with a beautiful young woman, Fenris cracked a small smile.

"'Is this what you do to charm all of your women?' she asked with a fierce plunge of her dagger. He knocked the blade away with his own and snarled as he swung his sword over her ducking head. 'Oh, dear, I think it's working on _me_.'"

Emma read until her tongue felt dry and her voice began to croak the words. Danarius detected her growing discomfort and reached a hand to gently close the book against her legs.

"Ready for bed?"

Emma swallowed, but there was no saliva in her mouth to drive down. "I'm thirsty after reading so much," she rasped.

Danarius smirked and leaned closer, wrapping a hand around her neck and pulling her to him. "I can wet your tongue," he murmured suggestively before pressing his lips to hers. Emma could taste the sweet wine on his tongue as he brushed it over her bottom lip. He prodded her lips apart and dipped his tongue inside, rubbing it against her own. The action was strange and foreign to Emma. She kept still as Danarius claimed her mouth, stroking her lower back with the palm of his hand.

The magister's eyes remained closed throughout his touches, allowing Emma to look freely upon the elf that watched them. Fenris stared gravely at their meeting lips and followed the movement of Danarius's mouth. His gaze shifted from their mouths to the magister's hand against Emma's back. But, most frequently of all, Fenris looked into Emma's eyes.

Emma remained locked in their ocular embrace, clenching her fingers into tight fists as a warmth filled her belly. Danarius's hand moved from Emma's back to her hips, digging his knuckles into her skin. Fenris studied the motion with slightly parted lips in his dazed concentration. Emma watched as Fenris flicked a tongue out to wet them and subconsciously did the same. Her tongue grazed the magister's and he mistook the contact for enthusiasm. Danarius deepened the kiss, plunging his tongue more forcefully into her mouth. His hand left Emma's hip to travel slowly up across her belly.

Emma breathed against their mouths, heart beating faster and faster as Fenris carefully surveyed the scene. She gasped when Danarius's fingers brushed the tops of her breasts. "I want to see you," he said hoarsely. Emma tensed beneath his touch and shook her head. "Alright. I understand. But you are allowed only one freedom tonight. Are you certain you want to waste it on something so harmless?"

"What is the alternative?" Emma whispered.

"I touch you beneath your clothing."

Emma's breath hitched at the idea. Danarius began to trail kisses along her neck, flicking his tongue against her skin. "So?" Danarius murmured as he trailed a finger along her collarbone. "Which do you prefer?"

"The first."

"I thought so," he smiled against her neck and brought two fingers to hook around the fabric of her dress. He slowly pulled down with his head rested against Emma's shoulder and revealed her corset. The tops of her breasts spilled over the edge, gently heaving as she breathed.

"Your skin is beautiful," he said softly. "Kissed by the sun."

Emma glanced up at Fenris. The elf was watching her chest rise and fall.

"Remove your corset."

Knowing the consequences of protesting, Emma reached both arms behind her back to slide fingers beneath the laces. She tugged forward and they slackened from their tight position. The corset loosened around Emma's body more and more as she undid the laces. When it was loose enough, she pulled away at the stiff fabric until it came free. It plopped to the floor with a quiet rustle.

Danarius was silent as he nestled against her, observing the shift of Emma's skin around her breaths and sighs. His fingers drew absent circles against her waist. He stayed true to his words, his hands never rising to touch her breasts.

When Emma's embarrassment finally subsided a portion, she risked a glance at Fenris. She had only intended a swift peek, but her eyes stayed stuck to his face upon viewing his expression.

The elf was staring hard at her breasts, brow furrowed into a deep frown. His gloved finger idled along the pale lines of his arm. Emma inhaled sharply when she saw the red line of blood trail down his skin, the clawed gauntlet piercing his flesh.

"S-stop!"

Danarius jolted against Emma's side. "What?" he asked in surprise as he leaned up to search her face. Fenris seemed to rouse from a dream and glanced down at his bleeding arm. He frowned at the wound before hiding it behind his back. Emma knew then not to bring attention to it.

"I'm tired. Can we sleep?"

Danarius sighed and swiped a hand against his eyes. "Yes."

Emma rose from her seat and scrambled to the bed. She crawled inside and pulled the sheets over her body as she removed the dress. She pushed it over the edge and let it fall to the ground. Emma lay in only her underwear, chest still bare.

Danarius chuckled at her childlike bashfulness and shrugged out of his own robes and into his smalls. He peeled back the sheets and settled beneath. Emma's eyes widened as the magister pulled her body abruptly to his, flesh upon flesh. Danarius's skin was warm and he pressed it harder against hers.

"Ah," he sighed into her neck. "Emma, Emma."

"Yes?"

"Goodnight."

"Goodnight."

Fenris stood staring at the seat where the pair had sat, his arm still hidden behind himself. Danarius cleared his throat and shifted his legs in bed. The noise woke Fenris from his daze and he began to undress with his back to them. Emma watched it all with bated breath. She loved to see the elf out of his armor for a change. He was so beautiful. Emma feared her heart was close to bursting by the time he settled himself along the couch's cushions. She flinched when his green eyes settled upon hers. Fenris continued to stare until Emma's eyes grew heavy and she was no longer able to keep them open.

vVv

"_Agh, vanmara falgris. No_… _ah._"

Emma awoke to a familiar hiss. She remained still, not wanting to alert the elf to her arousal. He sounded distressed. Perhaps he was having a nightmare.

Danarius's voice added to the quietness. "Be silent, you'll wake Emma."

"_Mmnf_," came the muffled reply. As if Fenris's mouth had been covered.

Emma squinted softly, keeping her lashes close together. She hoped this would make it hard to detect that her eyes were open.

Emma quelled the gasp of surprise that rose in her chest when she drank in the scene. Drowned in it.

Fenris was pinned to the couch by Danarius, who lay flush against the length of his body. The magister's hand was buried inside Fenris's long, cream undergarments. Emma could see the fabric shift around Danarius's hand as he moved it up and down in a repetitive motion. Fenris's quiet grunts were stifled by Danarius's free hand over his mouth. The elf stared angrily up at the ceiling, focusing on a single spot and not removing his gaze from it.

The magister sighed as he moved his hips forward, closing his eyes.

"_Agh!_" Fenris sounded from beneath the hand. Danarius rolled his hips back, only to lurch them forward again. "_Mngh,_" Fenris grunted, eyes tight with pain.

"Qui...et…," Danarius moaned softly. He bent his head forward to rest against the elf's, whose hands had begun to clench tightly at the cushions.

Emma watched the display in shock, forgetting to keep her eyes squinted as they opened wider and wider.

Danarius's head dropped to rest upon the elf's shoulder as his thrusts grew more frantic. Fenris continued to glare up at the same spot of ceiling, breathing noisily beneath the hand. The couch creaked with each shift in weight and a tell-tale symphony filled the room. Danarius's hand pumped harder beneath Fenris's trousers, but the elf reacted no differently to it.

"Come, you stubborn wolf."

The magister began rolling his hips in a more circular movement and he jerked forward in less rhythm. "_Venhedis_," Danarius grunted. "Ugh." He pushed forward once more, his body growing rigid as his arms trembled beneath his weight. The magister let out a gust of air and he collapsed against Fenris's body, hand leaving his mouth. Fenris breathed quickly through flared nostrils, eyes still set upon the ceiling. Danarius panted as he laid over the elf with his arm draped over the couch.

After a long minute passed, the magister slowly removed himself from Fenris who winced and ground his teeth.

"Go clean yourself," Danarius ordered quietly.

Fenris's voice was tight with anger. "Yes, Master."

Emma clamped her eyes shut as the two rose from the couch. She felt Danarius slip into the sheets and lay against the mattress. He shifted close to Emma's body and wrapped an arm around her naked stomach. Emma heard the door announce Fenris's absence with a small thud.

She was still awake when he returned and Danarius breathed slowly against her shoulder, deep in sleep. Emma watched the elf shuffle to the couch and lower himself onto it with a small grimace.

His eyes flashed to hers briefly once he was settled, as if just to glance in her direction. Fenris flinched when he found that Emma was staring at him with a gentle sadness. His eyes glinted with realization upon reading her expression. He knew she saw it. The elf's face screwed up in several emotions; too many for Emma to decide what he truly felt. Anger? Embarrassment? Sadness? Fear? Which of these did he feel the strongest?

Fenris's eyes widened a fraction as he watched a single tear trek across Emma's nose and drip onto the pillow below.

vVv


	21. I won't push you away

vVv

Emma didn't sleep that night. She watched Fenris as the hours passed. He grew weary of her relentless staring after about a minute and turned his back to her, facing the couch cushion. Emma waited and waited as she watched his broad back move in time to his breathing. When would the elf begin to cry? When would his body wrack with the horrors of being…-Emma couldn't even think the word without cold fingers running down her spine-..._raped._

She had seen Danarius touch Fenris before, in the corridor. This was different. This was gritty and real. Even when she closed her eyes, that helpless, angry expression on the elf's face burned behind her lids. His brow, tight with pain as he grappled the couch. How often did this occur? To think, Danarius would be so bold as to take him right under Emma's nose. Had she been so naive to think that the magister's molestations would cease upon their engagement? Hadn't the magister loved her? Or was that naivety, as well?

So many fragmented thoughts and questions raced through Emma's mind as she stared at the elf's back. He was becoming more and more fragile in her eyes. Emma feared that she would never be able to reach him, that he would never stop pushing her away. Maybe he needed to, Emma realized with a sad frown. Maybe he needed at least one person in his life whom he could deny. Perhaps Emma could help Fenris by giving him that small freedom.

But why didn't he cry? What was he used to in his life?

The light of day spilled slowly into the room, announcing the pinks and oranges of a new dawn. Despite laying awake the entire night, Emma wasn't the slightest bit tired. Her heart still hammered noisily in her chest, as if the incident had occurred only moments ago. She needed out of this dreaded room. The magister's arm, draped across her naked breasts, felt heavy and constricting. Emma needed to leave, _now_.

She shifted slowly to the edge of bed, Danarius's limp arm dragging against her skin, until she was completely out of his grasp. Emma crawled out onto carpeted floor with a final glance at the sleeping magister. Could she possibly behave as though nothing had changed?

"_That man is a monster,"_ Fenris had said.

_It's the way he knows. The way all of these people know. A master does as he likes with his property. Fenris is Danarius's property. Does that make Danarius a monster, or simply a Tevinter slaveowner? _

Even so, Emma couldn't accept this from Danarius. Tevinter slaveowner or monster, it didn't matter. Neither would carry her friendship as long as Fenris was suffering.

Emma padded softly across the room, feet carrying her to the elf's couch. His back was still turned and his shoulders were still tensed, even in sleep. When Emma's legs met with the cushion's edge, she knelt to the floor. Her eyes passed over Fenris's sleeping form, a sad frown pulling at her lips.

Fenris rolled his body over on the cushion, looking up at Emma with those striking eyes of his. He didn't seem surprised to find her inches from his face, though Emma was. She leaned back on her knees, a blush crawling up her neck. She stared at him wordlessly with a gaping mouth. What could she say?

There was nothing to say. Not now, not here. Even if she did find something, Emma knew the elf would not respond. And if he did, not at all well. The last two times she tried to talk about Danarius's advances, Fenris became understandably furious. He was ashamed of it.

Nothing to say with words, but perhaps something with touch. Emma wanted the stubborn fool to know she cared. She cared so much. And whenever Emma had felt particularly miserable in Fereldon, she would always crawl into her family's arms. Father, Mother, Bethany, even Carver. They would all wrap her up in a big hug and made her feel as though everything was going to turn out just fine.

If she could do that for Fenris... if he would let her…

Emma reached a hand out to his arm and pressed her fingers against the roads of white markings. Fenris glared at her and jerked his limb away as he wrenched himself into an upright position. Emma frowned, concern marking her features. The elf curled his lip into a silent snarl upon reading her expression. It screamed, _"I don't want your damned pity." _He bent his head to stare angrily at his lap.

What was the equivalent to an embrace for Fenris? What did he want the most in a companion? Emma recalled her earlier realization..._someone he could deny freely_...and peeled apart her dry lips.

"You can always push me away," she whispered softly, "Always."

The elf slowly lifted his head. His expression was just as awed as it was pained.

"I'll join you in the kitchens for supper tonight," Emma promised, face burning. She had needed to change the subject fast. The latter statement had been surprisingly embarrassing to utter.

He opened his mouth to reply, eyes still dazed, but couldn't form any words around his lips. He just sat there, distant and silently stammering. Emma's own lips pulled into a small, sad smile. She dragged herself up to her feet and left the elf to his scattered thoughts. And she, to hers.

Emma did it, however. She embraced her dear friend without touching him.

vVv

Emma walked through the long corridors. Part of her felt guilty for leaving the elf behind, but what could she have done? She would start planting Danarius with moral seedlings when she regained her wits and composure. For now, Emma needed a bath. Something to wipe away the stresses so she could face everything with a fresh mind and body.

She spun a corner and careened into a wall of wet flesh.

"Oh," she gasped. Emma found herself staring at a man's naked chest and blushed, withdrawing quickly away. She lifted her chin to smile apologetically at the man and stopped short. Without conscious effort, her face arranged itself into a fierce glare.

"Demetri."

The archon's son raised his hand and slapped her square across the face.

"I will not be addressed in such a way by a _slave_. You _are_ a slave, girl. No matter how many noble Tevinter men you seduce, you are a slave until the Imperial court says otherwise."

"Fine, then," Emma laughed in humorless surprise, refusing to palm her burning cheek. "I may still be a slave, but I am not a beaten one. And I have many freedoms. It is unjust for you to punish someone else's slaves." She imagined the perfect comparison would be defacing another's property, but didn't want to fuel the man's already deranged belief that she wasn't a person.

"I will do as I please," Demetri snarled, but nevertheless kept his hands at his sides.

"And so shall I."

Demetri's face reddened in anger, but he remained silent as he shoved past her and down the hall.

Emma was surprise at his retreat. The man who nearly killed Arathea with blood magic for _spilling _was letting Emma walk away? After blatant disregard to social statuses? She decided Demetri's strange behavior must have been due to her engagement with Danarius and dismissed the exchange.

vVv

Emma stepped into the steamy bath chamber, breathing in the familiar smells of mint. She delved into the warm waters after tossing off her dress. Fresh bubbles swarmed her body as she wadded to her favorite seat. She collapsed onto the stone bench with a contented sigh, running wet fingers through her hair. _That smell. _Emma sucked in a deep breath of the intoxicating fumes. If she closed her eyes, she was surrounded by Fenris.

_Fenris. _

She did close her eyes, and imagined what a wide, carefree smile would look like on his normally grim face. Emma hoped she would see it some day. It would be dazzling, heart stopping and heart starting all in one. Emma pictured him in the gardens, laughing in the sun. So strange, the idea, and so beautiful.

The warm waters felt so cozy. After a night of sleepless intensity, Emma could feel her limbs finally begin to loosen. She sank further and further into the bubbles. _Ahh, _if only all her problems could face her right there, in the bath. Emma would handle them all with a swift dip of her chin. She sighed at the thought and curled her toes. To be rid of all problems…laughing Fenris…in the gardens…warm sunshine on his face...Danarius pushing himself into Fenris...mint leaves on her tongue...feasting on sweets..._Papa_…_I'm tired._

"_Okay, one more guess."_

_Emma swiped a hand against the grass, lips puckered in thought. _

_ "Is it…," she trailed off as all the possible colors and aromas filled her mind, "I feel like it is a pale red_..._but it smells of smoke…"_

_ Papa opened his palm to reveal a small brown vial. "Here is your hint." _

_ "Ah," Emma cried, clapping her hands. She squeezed her eyes shut and pulled at the grass. "I know this, I know this, don't say anything."_

"Larus. Larus, is it working?" a panicked voice filled Emma's mind. It sounded so distant, like she was hearing it from behind a pane of glass. "Larus, _answer me_, damn it!"

"Be quiet, I'm trying to concentrate."

"Oh, Maker, oh, Maker, oh…"

Larus...that name was so familiar...the healer man? Was he behind the glass pane? And another man...who was he? His voice was so…

"Let me do it, you're not doing it hard enough. Or you're doing it too hard. Let me do it!"

Emma's chest felt as though the entire world were sitting on it. So much pressure and so dreadfully painful. Needles puncturing her lungs. And a fire raging inside her chest.

"Silence, I need to…you…"

The voices were growing more and more muffled. Emma's chest hurt. She was incredibly sleepy, despite the pain.

"Please, Emma, don't do this to me. Not now."

Don't go to sleep? But she felt so exhausted. Surely, there would be time for plenty else. Later.

For now…

"I won't push you away."

What...? What did he say? Who-?

"I don't think she's…"

"_No! _Move over. I can-let me…"

Emma felt again. Something other than the burning in her chest. She felt a pair of hands upon her chest, pushing, pushing, pushing, in rhythm. Emma swore she could just smell past her clogged nose...mint. And then there was a new sensation, coming from her mouth.

A hard and soft pressure on her lips. The feeling was met with cool, minty air being pushed inside her body. The burning in her chest intensified as it detected the air being sent through. She needed more. More.

Emma choked and sputtered unseeingly. Her nose burned and her chest tightened around each ragged inhale. Water drained from her nose as she hacked away, gagging around all the water that filled her belly. She choked again and couldn't breathe for a painfully long moment. Two hands gripped her shoulders and violently pushed Emma so that she was facing the ground she lay on. She vomited full cups of water, throat burning. A trembling hand rubbed her back as she emptied the contents of her stomach.

"Ah," Emma moaned between coughs. She felt as though she had swallowed a fistfull of shattered glass.

"Emma."

"Wha-" she was taken by another fit of coughs that furiously wracked her body, "happeh-" Emma finally choked out.

Emma's eyes widened as Fenris's voice echoed against the tiled room. "You were drowning...you…"

Larus interjected quickly, "You fainted in the baths."

She turned her face away from the floor tile and stared up at the bright, green eyes boring down on her. It was Fenris. He was here. He was crying. Fenris was crying.

"Fenris," Emma croaked and reached a hand to wipe away the tears spilling down his cheeks. Her hand was wet and it only spread the wetness around. But that didn't matter. She was touching the elf's face. He was letting her touch him.

Emma wanted to sleep again. So peaceful was she only moments ago. Now, she was surrounded by all things new and strange. Drowning, crying Fenris, touching his skin with hers. It was all too much.

"Fenris," she rasped again, deciding to take one thing at a time. She stroked her thumb against his tan cheek. The elf was trembling, head to foot, his eyes locked fearfully on hers.

"Please, don't do that to me again," he whispered.

Emma let her hand fall against the tile with a wet slap. "I'm sorr-"

"No," Fenris interrupted quickly with chattering teeth. "Don't nearly die."

Emma's heart pulsed in time to her throbbing throat. Either at the thought of death or at the thought of Fenris dreading her death. She cracked a small smile. "I'll do my best."

The elf smiled back weakly and opened his mouth to reply when a sonorous cry pierced the chamber walls.

Emma leaned up to find Danarius bursting into the room, eyes wild, and still wearing nothing but his long undergarments

"_Emma_? _Larus! Is Emma alrigh-_" the magister spotted Emma on the floor and sank to his knees. "Thank the Maker," he whispered as he stared at her crumpled form. Danarius brought a hand to his mouth and Emma saw that he, too, was shaking. Like a leaf in the wind. Emma flinched as his face contorted with fast growing fury.

"You are _never_," he growled, "bathing alone again."

vVv


	22. Caught you this time

vVv

After the excitement had passed, Fenris lifted himself off the ground. His knees were quaking a little and his foot slid against the tile, but he quickly collected himself. The elf straightened his back and shook his head, as if to rid himself of the fear that crawled inside him. His usual stance in front of Danarius was made odd by his lack of armor and soaking wet tunic.

Danarius turned to demand what happened from Larus, who sat on the tile beside him, eyes on Emma.

"She fainted," Larus explained calmly. "From many possible causes. The heat of the water, fatigue, stress."

Danarius switched his gaze to Emma and grimaced as he clenched the cotton fabric at his hips. "Emma, do you require anything? Does it hurt? Are you quite shaken?" He shifted against the tile so that Emma was within reach and stretched a hand out to rest upon her leg.

That was when Emma remembered. She was naked.

Emma let out a shrill cry of distress that bounced off the ceramic walls and jolted the men to attention. Danarius leaned closer, hands searching for something to occupy themselves with. "What is it? What's wrong?" he continuously chanted.

Fenris had lurched forward at the sound of Emma's moan and was scrutinizing her face and body with a fierce urgency. His face calmed as Emma closed her legs and pressed two hands against her breasts, realizing the cause for her torment. But Danarius continued to probe at her with frantic fingers.

"What? Emma, what?" the magister's voice was pleading as he pulled at her wrists. "Your chest? You have pain there? Larus, what's-"

The blonde magister rolled his eyes as he removed his thickest robe. "She's covering her innocence. Pointless after all that, but so it is." He leaned forward and draped the rich cloth around her shoulders. Emma gave him an appreciative glance as she pulled the robe tight against her. She pushed off the tile with her hands and rose to a slow stand. All three men watched her carefully, as though she would topple at any moment. Emma sighed and hurried forth, remembering too late that she had already made the mistake of rushing out of the bathroom once.

Emma's heels slid against the wet marble as she took a single step forward, and she gasped as the robe slipped from her shoulders. She tried to regain her posture in a comical dance before careening to the floor. In anticipation of the impact that had already wounded her weeks ago, Emma reached out hands behind her back and clenched both eyes shut.

The pain never came.

She felt herself being lifted off the wet floor and into a pair of strong arms. A sigh of relief and agitation escaped past her lips. Though the smell of mint alerted Emma to the identity of her savior, she was afraid to look upon his face and confirm it. The thought of Fenris cradling her naked body against his chest was enough to send her reeling. She placed two palms on each of her breasts, as pointless as it may have been.

Danarius's impatient voice broke the silence and Emma finally opened her eyes. "She clearly isn't fine, she can't even stand." The healer shook his head and explained that clumsiness was nothing his spells could fix. Danarius insisted that there must be known side effects of going without breathing for so long, and Larus launched into his medicinal perspective.

While the two friends were deep in conversation, Emma felt Fenris lean his head forward against her. She shuddered in his arms as lips grazed her jaw and cool breath brushed her neck.

"Caught you this time," Fenris whispered into her hair. The two magisters couldn't hear his soft words through their own.

Emma inclined her head so the elf could hear as she whispered back, "I told you, I'm not a damsel in distress."

"So you say as you lay in my arms."

Emma was opening her lips to retort when the magisters returned their attention to her.

"Well, let us have Emma be the judge," Larus said with a small shrug. "It's her body, after all."

"I don't care," Danarius snapped. "I want her in bed. She needs rest."

"No," Emma blurted. Not that room again, alone with her memories of last night. Not yet. "I'm fine, Danarius, honestly. The floor's just slippery with soap and water."

"Emma, please," the shaken magister stepped forward, eyes pleading. "I would feel a lot better if you were to rest for a while."

Emma stared at the tile a long moment before sighing and nodded her reluctant consent. She was exhausted, anyway, after no rest. Though she didn't want to go back, perhaps it was for the best. She would have to return some time.

"Thank you," Danarius smiled a little and bent forward to plant a kiss on her forehead. It felt strange to be kissed with the elf's arms around her body. Danarius straightened his back and addressed Fenris with slightly narrowed eyes. "I won't ask what you were doing away from my chambers, because I'm grateful you found her. Escort her. Stay there while she rests."

"Why?" Emma asked.

"Just in case."

In case what? Emma didn't bother asking, knowing the magister had been cryptic for a reason. There was something he didn't want her to know.

She put a hand on Fenris's chest and looked up into his eyes. The wet fabric clung to his skin, the white markings visible. The elf let out a low hiss upon Emma's touch and lowered his face to glare at her in displeasure. She merely smiled back at him and lifted her hand away. _Push me, Fenris._

"I can walk on my own now."

The arms poised beneath Emma's body slackened as they lowered her to the ground. A sigh cooled the exposed skin of her neck. She quelled the shiver that crawled along her skin and bent to retrieve Larus's fallen robe. Danarius's hand collided with hers as they both reached to obtain the bundle. The magister smiled sheepishly and cleared his throat, dropping his hand away. Emma closed the robe around herself and squared her shoulders. It was dripping wet and heavy on her body, but it was coverage so it would have to do.

"I'll be dining with the elves tonight."

Danarius blinked at the blunt statement, perhaps because it hadn't been shaped in the form of a request.

"With the elves," Danarius echoed as he stared at her determined face. "Are you?"

"Yes."

The healer's wide gaze darted between the pair from where he still sat on the floor, clearly astounded by the exchange himself. Was it so uncommon for Danarius to not get his way? Emma thought she should like to be the one to begin the trend.

Danarius, having collected himself, ran fingers that shook through his hair. "I would like it very much if you joined me for dinner," he spoke with effort, voice straining to keep even.

"I know you would," Emma said simply. "But I will eat in the kitchens tonight-"

Danarius's eyes flashed with a fierce anger that stole the words from her mouth. "_Don't _pretend as if you have a choice," he growled.

Emma kept her head held high, back straight beneath the thick robe. "I'm not pretending."

"Right!" Larus scrambled to a stand, sensing he was needed, and stepped between the pair's stand-off. "Ah- why don't we just cross that bridge when we come to it?" He turned on his heels to smile back and forth between their angry faces. "A lot has happened. Why don't we all take a step back and deal with this later?" Larus held out his hands, inviting the idea into their minds with outstretched fingers. "Preferably when I'm not in the room."

"Fine," Emma said, returning the smile. "But the outcome will not change. I am dining in the kitchens tonight."

Danarius opened his lips to reply, features tight with anger. He closed them after a slow moment had passed and heaved a weary sigh. "So be it," he said into the long exhale. "I _will _see you for the reading, however. I will not waver on that."

Emma nodded once and exited the bathroom with Fenris's wet footsteps trailing after her. She turned when she heard the door click shut behind her, the two magister's voices now muffled behind it. Fenris was gazing at her with a strange expression.

"I would give anything to do what you just did."

Emma frowned and pulled the robe tighter around herself, not knowing how to respond. To her surprise, the elf's lips then pulled into a lopsided smile that made Emma's heart lurch against her ribs. Eyes clouded with the sight of his small happiness, she turned to walk down the hall and toward the main staircase. Staring at such a face for too long was dangerous.

The elf strode to walk alongside her, rather than his usual several paces behind. The tension that so frequently settled between them pricked her skin and set it aflame. Emma prayed the elf wouldn't notice the flush to her cheeks, nor the quickness of her breath. _Honestly_, she scolded herself. Emma was like a dog in heat around Fenris.

They reached Danarius's-no,_ their _chambers- after a small eternity of steps and slipped inside. Emma's fingers ached with the firmness of her grip on the robe. She glanced about the room, unsure of what to do next. Emma allowed herself a brief glance at Fenris, remembering that he was to remain with her here.

This was going to be a beautiful torture. What was it Danarius had sent Emma here to acquire? Rest? Little chance of that, she thought, eyes lingering on the elf for longer than she had intended. He was tugging at the soaking cloth that hugged his skin and pulling it up over his stomach, revealing tan, chiseled abdomina-

Oh, Maker. Emma whirled her head around and glared at the patterned bedsheets, heart pumping blood in overdrive.

Fenris's voice rumbled behind her. "That robe is soaking wet."

"It is," Emma agreed through a dry throat. "Observant of you."

Fenris sighed. "Just take the thing off, Emma, before you catch cold."

She shook her head firmly, though her fingers loosened their grip on the fabric.

"I'll look away."

Emma turned a bit to see Fenris's bare back as he stood facing the door, arms folded against his chest. He rolled his neck and the muscles moved beneath his shoulder blades. Staring at the back of his white hair, Emma let go of the robe and shrugged her shoulders so that it fell to the floor in a loud rustle. Fenris's long ears jumped at the sudden sound, but he stayed true to his word and didn't turn her way.

"Now what?" Emma asked as she followed the white markings that trailed down his back. "I left my dress in the baths."

"Get in bed."

Emma tensed at the words and took a moment to put them into proper context. _He means for the whole resting thing. Don't be stupid, Emma. _"Right, j-just a moment." She crossed the room and pulled back the sheets before crawling into their warmth. After being damp and bare for so long, it was nice to feel dry warmth against her skin. But she still couldn't relax. Not as she watched Fenris's naked back, only fifteen paces away. "I'm in."

The elf turned to assess her position before giving her a curt nod. Emma had predicted he would settle himself on the couch until either of them were summoned, but he instead grabbed a nearby cushioned chair and made with it to the bed. He plopped it down beside the laying Emma before settling himself upon it.

The two stared at each other for awhile. Emma, a tad more anxiously. The elf's calm eyes roamed her face with a gentleness that melted her bones like snow in spring.

"There is something we need to discuss."

Emma's breath hitched in her chest. "What?" she managed around a swallow.

"Demetri."

Emma was surprised to hear the name. So many other possible turns had the conversation taken inside her head. That direction had not even occurred to her. "What about him?"

"He was leaving the bathroom before I went in and found you, face down in the water."

Emma's eyes widened, but she did not feel fear. After all, she_ had _wondered why the Archon's son had let her off the hook so easily after openly defying him. "You think he tried to drown me?"

"I think he used a spell to make the blood rush to your head and cause you to faint."

"That seems likely," Emma considered with a small frown.

The elf was staring at her with wary eyes. "You don't seem surprised or...scared. Why is that?"

"Well, Demetri's no good, is he? He's against mine and Danarius's marriage. Nearly killed Arathea. And I bickered with him before I went inside. Really, it's no surprise he tried to-"

Fenris's leaned forward, eyes flashing with sudden anger. "You did what?"

Emma shrugged defensively. "He slapped me! Told me I was a slave. I told him to stop punishing slaves that weren't his and he said 'I'll do as I please' and I said that I would, too, and he just sort of left."

Fenris lunged for Emma, hands reaching to grip both sides of her face as the chair tipped back behind him. "Stupid girl!" the elf hissed between clenched teeth, eyes boring into hers. "You can't talk to the Archon's son that way. You practically gave him permission to slaughter you. You can't treat him like Danarius."

Emma stared at him in surprise, lost for words.

"Understand me?"

"Yes," Emma murmured around the cheeks Fenris pressed between his hands. The elf released her and collected his chair, settling back into it with a sigh.

"I'm sorry. But you don't have the freedom to speak your mind."

Emma shook her head to silently voice the lack of offense taken and watched his face soften into sadness.

"I can't witness another repeat of today. Stay away from Demetri."

She nodded and clasped her hands together beneath the sheets. Why did he have to say such things that stirred the fleshy fillings of her chest so?

Emma sighed and ripped her gaze away from his face. Her eyes rested upon the empty couch, where the dark scene had taken place only hours ago. Again, she saw Fenris squirming upon it, fingers clenching at the cushions.

"There is something else we need to discuss," she said quietly, returning to the elf's face.

Fenris's eyes darkened at the words, and he clenched his hands into fists upon his lap. "I suppose there is," he ground out. He turned his face away from hers and stared unseeingly at that same spot of ceiling he had before.

vVv


	23. Because I want you to

vVv

Fenris stared down at Emma, the muscles jumping inside his jaw. He was immensely uncomfortable with the subject, but he was willing to satisfy her unending desire to discuss it. Emma frowned at his rigid shoulders, his hands clenched into tight fists upon his legs. She shouldn't be pressing this.

"_I won't push you away."_

Fenris's frantic voice had pulled Emma from the shadows of her mind when the water grew thick in her lungs. Was he exhibiting this promise now? Fighting the urge to stop Emma from discovering the things he buried deep within himself.

"What would you like to know?" he asked with a small narrowing of his eyes. Like he was bracing himself for a hard punch. Should she…? Yes. How was Emma going to help him unless she knew what was going on?

"How often does he…?" Emma grimaced as it became clear just how horrible this conversation was going to be.

Fenris's head flinched as though he might turn away, but he forced his gaze to remain focused on Emma.

"Danarius is a popular man in Tevinter," he rumbled, voice bitter. "He has no shortage of women at his feet."

"Then why-"

"When he is angry," Fenris continued gravely. "He will seek me out to...vent. Or," the elf finally broke his eyes away to fall upon the couch he slept on, "when he can't take the thing he really wants. Which, in answer to your question, is quite often now."

"Well, what does he want, then?" Maybe if Emma could try and find a way to help Danarius achieve what he wanted, he would leave Fenris alone. Emma suspected it was to become the next Archon and future ruler of Tevinter. She could help make it more possible by campaigning and showing everyone she was worthy of being his wife.

Fenris slowly turned back to her, head cocked to the side and white hair falling into his eyes.

"You."

Emma sucked in a sharp breath as the word stabbed her mind like a knife. Eyes on the elf, she rose into a sitting position, as if that might help her to process the simple answer of "_you"_. You.

_Me?_

So, _she_ was the one responsible for Fenris's suffering? Her throat closed around her rapidly growing sorrow as a five hundred pound weight settled upon her chest.

Fenris was being raped because Emma was too proud. This entire time, when she thought she was _helping _Fenris, she was really the cause for his hurt. Marriage to Danarius was Emma's affair and the innocent elf was being dragged into it. Her nose burned with the tears that pricked behind her eyes and she swallowed back a sob.

Images of Fenris's pained face as Danarius bent over his body rolled in waves through her mind, pushing forth emotions that she desperately tried to gulp down. Emma scorned the hot tears as they slipped down her cheeks. She gripped the coverlet in both hands, pulling it up to her face and disappearing behind it.

Emma cried softly for she was unable to suppress the violent surges of guilt that wracked her body. How could Fenris treat Emma with such kindness when she gave him sleepless nights in return? How might the elf feel, watching Danarius restrain himself around Emma and knowing that all the man's lust would later be thrust upon him. While she was safe and tucked away in bed. Emma was in part to blame and the thought filled her with unrelenting shame.

A rough pair of hands began tugging away the coverlet and nudging at her bent head. Fingers gingerly cupped her chin and pulled Emma from her crestfallen hunch. The elf stood bent over her form, thumb caressing her jaw. Emma stared into his blazing green eyes as the sobs were stolen from her chest.

"I do not mean to frighten you," Fenris spoke gently. He brushed the strands of hair that clung, wet from salty tears, to Emma's face. "I was tactless."

Did Fenris's kindness know no bounds? Emma's lip trembled with the promise of another onslaught of crying. prompting Fenris to continue stroking her face and murmuring assurances. His words brushed over her face in their own minty caress. Calming as his words were, Emma found his tenderness to be suffocating. Even with her being the reason behind Danarius's advances, Fenris was trying to dry her tears. Apologizing for "frightening" her. The tears welled along her eyes again as she listened to his soft utterings.

"I'm sorry," Emma whispered as the tears spilled over. Fenris paused his gentle touches to stare at her in confusion.

"For what?"

Emma bit her lip to stop its incessant vibrations and gazed into his eyes. "For forcing Danarius to turn to you. I've been denying him at your expense. And _you_," Emma's voice broke around a sob. "After all you've done to he- _help_ me." She gave herself over to the tears and whimpered into her open palms.

Fenris's hands dropped from her cheek, a blank expression on his face. He shook his head, as if in disbelief, and seated himself on the edge of the bed.

"Your fault," he murmured.

Emma closed her eyes as the phrase cut into her flesh. Hearing it from the elf's lips made it hurt so much more.

"You blame yourself?" Fenris spoke. His voice was soft. It sounded apologetic and sympathetic, only adding to the weight on Emma's chest. "You believe you have any control over that man?"

Emma opened her eyes to meet his. He was gazing at her with a pained expression, wincing as though a candle was held to his arm.

"Oh, Emma," he sighed, leaning forward so close that Emma held her breath. She felt the air from his lungs tickle her skin as he spoke. "It would hurt me far worse if you took my place." He braced a hand against the bed and pushed forward a little more, so that his forehead rested upon Emma's. "Leave things as they are." All too soon, he leaned back from her with a sad smile at his lips.

Seeing such a face made Emma feel an overpowering need to change things. She couldn't bare to be the cause of his suffering, no matter if he didn't blame her. She did. Emma could not lay awake in bed every night as Fenris was taken against his will only feet away. Emma would not.

Emma decided that she must allow the magister's lusty advances and encourage the weight of his affection to be shifted from Fenris to Emma. She would deepen their kisses, disrobe her body, touch his flesh with hers; whatever he required. Emma was to be married to Danarius. Not Fenris. The elf did not deserve to have become an object for Danarius to use in place of her.

Tonight, after the reading, Emma would meet Danarius's passion with her own. She would ingest all of the feelings of shame and guilt into her movements, and use them to help her friend. If Danarius did not accept her advances, she would throw herself at him. Anything to sate his hunger and leave Fenris untouched. Damn the elf if he thought she would allow this to carry on after knowing she was the cause. Absurd.

"What is the matter?" Fenris asked with a furrowed brow.

Emma wiped a few straggling tears that hung from her chin. "Nothing. I'm fine now."

"Good," Fenris nodded once, though his eyes held a glint of suspicion.

"Thank you," Emma murmured, reaching a hand to rest upon his. The elf granted her a rare warm smile as he pulled his fingers away from her touch. In turn, he brought a hand to her shoulder and gently pushed until she was once again lying on the soft mattress.

"I know you did not sleep last night," Fenris rumbled as his eyes roamed her face. "Get some rest."

"Why won't you let me touch you?" Emma blurted, catching the elf off guard. He recovered quickly from his surprise and stared down at her beneath long lashes. After it seemed as though an eternity had passed, he finally opened his lips to speak.

"Because I want you to."

Emma felt a sudden burst of heat in her belly that sent tingles between her legs. She gasped softly at her violent reaction and turned her face away from the elf before her lusty body could react further. She spent the time calming down by reflecting on his words. Fenris didn't let her touch him because he wanted her to? All this time? Those many times he wrenched his arm away when she brushed it. The time they danced in the crowded ballroom, his hand hovering over her waist rather than resting upon it. It was because he felt himself being taken by it?

"Fenris," she whispered. Emma didn't know how to respond to the statement, but she knew she had to say something. The elf's eyes were searching her face, a blush darkening his tan skin. He was nervous to see her reaction to his words. She poured her heart into the molded truth, sighing around her reply, "I want to touch you, too." Emma loved the simplicity of it on her tongue. It was plain and easy. Emma quite naturally wanted to touch him and that was all.

The elf suddenly leapt from the bed and fled the room in a blur of tan flesh. He slammed the door behind him with a loud _bang_. Emma stared at the closed door in awe.

She pulled the sheets up to her chin with a small smile. The face that Fenris had made before retreating from the room burned behind her closing lids. Emma buried the expression deep into her favorite memories so she could call upon it whenever she liked. It was certainly one to remember.

The calm, cool, collected Fenris had displayed the most interesting combination of features upon hearing Emma's reply. Those dark brows disappeared inside his white hair when he raised them in startlement. The bright green eyes were glazed over as he stared at Emma's lips, where the words had fallen. His face had burned bright red, up to the tips of his long ears, and his mouth hung agape. The elf had been overcome by embarrassment.

Emma's smile widened as she replayed the comical reaction over and over in her mind. Her sweet, dear Fenris was still so like a child. Emma would protect him. Tonight, Danarius would feel no need to seek his slave in providing physical satisfaction for Emma will have already fulfilled it. Strangely, the thought brought her far more comfort than fear.

Before long, her head became light and dizzy with the rumor of slumber. Emma eagerly crawled inside sleep's warm embrace, bidding her problems a pause while she rested.

vVv

_The elf paced just outside, struggling for breath as he fought every urge in his body to charge back inside and claim his master's woman. He bit the fist that he held clenched against his mouth until it bled in thin ribbons over his fingers. Repeating the sinfully simple words over and over in his mind, the elf closed his eyes and imagined touching the skin he so often yearned to caress. His cock pulsed in time to his rampant heartbeat and he grudgingly stopped himself from reaching a hand to sate his hunger. Desire burned in his gut like a gentle fire, tightening and expanding muscles he had long ago since forgotten. _

_Her tongue was dangerous. It would lead him to places that a slave ought never visit unless he wished to meet Death. Thinking of the woman's round breasts that had peaked over the top of her coverlet as she stared into his eyes… it almost seemed worth an introduction. What is death compared to a few moments of life?_

_He quietly moaned the woman's name in painful desire and dropped his head into his bleeding hand. The elf whispered, "Festis bei umo canavarum_." _In his tongue, it meant,_

_You will be the death of me. _

vVv


	24. Even this one

vVv

Emma awoke to a gentle nudging of her foot. It seemed as though she had only just fallen asleep and was not yet willing to part with sweet nothingness. Emma therefore pretended to have not felt the touch and kept her face serene. It wasn't difficult. She felt the fuzzy, warm blanket of sleep wrap around her mind, coaxing her return into darkness. In the lighter distance, there came an annoyed snort, followed by a hard shove of her leg. It hurt.

"Slave girl."

Emma's eyes flew open at the sound of that unpleasantly familiar voice…hollow and airy.

Demetri was bent over her body from where he stood at the edge of the bed. His arms braced on each side of her as he hovered. A mocking smile was spread across his pale face, framed with curled locks of yellow. His cold eyes squinted their dislike as he leisurely roamed Emma's features.

"You're a pretty one, I'll admit."

Emma glared at the compliment as it oozed like a thick sludge into her ears.

"What do you want?"

Demetri's smile faltered, but he kept his restraint in tact. It was almost disturbing to see how much effort it required from him. "How are you feeling?" he murmured.

"Does Danarius know you are here?"

The Archon's son stared at her lips in disgust, as if a slug had just slithered from its opening.

"Absurd that you are permitted to say his name…" he whispered with a small shake of his head. "If I were him," Demetri reached a hand to rest against her face, making Emma flinch and turn away. His thumb trailed along the length of her jaw before settling against her lip and pulling down the flesh. "I would cut out that insolent tongue of yours."

Emma jerked her face from his touch as she glowered into his cold gaze. "Sadly, you are not him."

"Very sadly."

She slowly sat up in bed, holding the sheets against her chest. Demetri leaned away with her, keeping the distance between them the same. Emma wanted to smack that smug grin off his face.

"What are you doing here?" she repeated.

Demetri's thin lips stretched into another smile that didn't reach his eyes.

The wicked leer spoke volumes to Emma. She knew that knowing glint in his eye was irrefutable confirmation of Fenris's suspicions. Demetri had attempted to drown her in the baths. Perhaps he had expected to find her body laid out in Danarius's chamber. He was coming to admire the extinguished defiance in her empty stare.

But that didn't explain the man's complete lack of disappointment. He seemed pleased with the outcome.

A small, frightened voice inside Emma's head whispered the cause,

"_You are a toy that has survived a rough play."_

Demetri's smile widened at the growing fright behind her eyes, as if he could hear the eery words himself.

"_He's happy you lived, because now…" _

He closed the space between them and pressed his lips to her ear. "What am _I _doing here? No, girl." His long finger slowly trailed down the length of Emma's neck. "What are _you _doing here?"

"_...he can play again."_

The door clicked and Demetri backed away before it swung open. Danarius idled inside, not at all surprised to find the Archon's son beside his naked fiance.

"Ah, Demetri."

Danarius's gaze flashed swiftly to Emma's before settling on the young man. Though his stance was relaxed, and his voice composed, his eyes held an immeasurable amount of disdain.

"If I didn't know any better, I would feel suspicious to stumble across such a scene."

Demetri was not as skilled in remaining calm. His voice was tight with warning and his hand twitched, as if ready to cast a spell.

"It's fortunate that you _do_ know better, isn't it?

Danarius smiled and shook his head, and the offense along with it. He slowly strode to the opposite edge of the bed. The two men stared at each other a long moment, a heavy strain in the air. Emma glanced back and forth between them, ready to bolt for the door if need be.

Danarius finally broke the silence, cutting through it like a dull knife as his voice filled the gaps. The gentle, quiet voice that Emma had come to know so well. It was the sound that apprised his anger.

"Why is my chief guard unconscious outside?" he asked with a disarming tilt of his head. Like he had asked for the time of day.

Demetri flinched at the question, furrowing his brow. He seemed surprised to have been asked about such a thing firsthand. There were a hundred things more important than the state of an elven slave. The menu for the day's supper should come leagues before _that_.

"He gave me an order," the younger man explained with a raised brow. "Told me to leave."

Emma had already begun to climb out of bed the very moment the horrid words slipped past her fiance's lips. She nearly toppled over bed's edge as she swung her feet out. The sheets were clenched in tight fists against her body as she stumbled across the room.

"You'll let her leave just like that?" Demetri sounded behind her, voice brimming with disapproval. "Without permission?"

"Stop, Emma."

She ignored him as she raced to the door with an urgency that engulfed her entire mind. There was only one thing Emma needed to do right now. Get to Fenris. The rest could come after, whatever it was. Her shaking fingers closed around the door handle and froze.

Emma concentrated with all her might on simply applying pressure to her hand and opening the door. She couldn't move a fraction.

"I said 'stop'."

Emma couldn't even open her lips to protest. She just stood there, staring furiously at the door handle, willing it open. Fenris…

"He's quite alright, Emma." Danarius assured her, tenderness warming his cool tone. "Come here. Make yourself decent before rushing into the halls."

The spell that had locked Emma's muscles in place let her loose and she swayed on her feet. Emma considered wrenching open the door, but decided she wouldn't be any help to the elf as an angry statue. She turned on her feet and wordlessly shuffled to the magister's wardrobe. Danarius was digging inside its depths, a concentrated frown on his face. He took out several prospects and held them before Emma to see if they suited her. After a fifth robe was pressed against her chest, she snatched it away with a scowl.

"It hardly matters," she grumbled. Danarius gave a soft chuckle as he closed the wardrobe.

"Such disrespect…" Demetri marveled, mouth gaping in awe.

Danarius smiled coolly, hands clasped tight behind his back. "Your concern is appreciated. Now, if you would be so kind as to leave…" He gestured to Emma, indicating that she would like to change in privacy.

"Of course," Demetri assented with a shallow dip of his head. His eyes flitted to Emma's and he flashed a final grin before turning on his heels and leaving them alone.

Emma let the towel fall to the floor as soon as he was gone and slipped the robe around her shoulders. Just after her arms were through and the robe was tied around her waist, Emma scurried to the door. She wrenched it open and rushed into the hall, searching the now dim corridors for Fenris.

The elf was slumped against the wall with his head bent low. Emma could hear him breathing wet breaths and prayed it wasn't his own blood that blocked the air passage. She dropped to her knees when she neared him and lifted his chin with her hand. His eyes were closed and his face was serene. Emma couldn't see any visible injuries on his face or body. The elf still lacked a tunic, making it easy for Emma to check for any bruising or cuts. Nothing. This didn't mean he was out of danger, however. Blood magic happened inside the body.

Emma pulled at his arms and contemplated how she would remove him from the hall. Before she could result to dragging his slackened body, Danarius emerged from his chambers.

"Move away."

She immediately did as instructed, stepping away until her back met the opposite wall. The magister lifted his hand and summoned green ribbons of light to his fingertips. They swirled about his hands until they stretched out and winded to the elf body. The light curled around Fenris's arms and legs, illuminating the flesh in their glow.

Fenris's markings came alive in the same way they had when Hadriana attacked him with magic. Emma stared, entranced, as streams of light coursed along his arms and chest. It was a strange reaction to the magic. Emma had thought it was an effect of Hadriana's spell. Now, watching him react the same way to Danarius's magic, she supposed it had something more to do with the markings themselves.

Fenris slowly drifted away from the floor and into thin air. The magister's hand remained steady as he stepped back into the room, eyes on Fenris. The elf's body followed, his arms and legs dangled beneath him, as if he were being tugged by a string hooked to his belly. Emma ambled after Fenris, unconsciously holding her hands out to catch him, should he fall.

Danarius gently laid the elf's body down against the couch and let the spell slip from his fingers. Emma took to the magister's basin, grabbing a stray cloth and soaking it in the water. She wrung the water out and rushed to press it against the elf's brow.

"I sent for Larus to come check on you before I came. He should be here soon. He'll tend to the elf."

Emma nodded, eyes trained on Fenris's sleeping face. She hoped he wouldn't be in pain when he roused. What had Demetri done to him?

Emma could feel Danarius's fingers wrap around her shoulder.

"You truly care for them, don't you?" His voice was intrigued.

"Yes," Emma answered. Though she would not admit that she cared for one elf in particular, fearing the repercussions. "They are my dear friends, all of them."

"Even this one?" Danarius asked doubtfully.

"Yes," Emma's lips pulled into a small smile, "even this one."

"Curious."

"Is it?" She pressed her hands against her knees and pushed herself into a stand. "Have you not made any friends with your slaves?"

The magister laughed and shook his head. "Do you hear yourself, Emma? 'Friends with my slaves'?"

Yes, well, he didn't have any trouble _bedding _his slave. Remembering her new dynamic with the magister, Emma decided to put herself to work in driving him away from the elf.

Emma made a slow step toward him and Danarius didn't think anything of it. She made another step and his laughter cut short. He raised a brow as she took a third step toward him, bringing them almost nose to nose. Or mouth to mouth, as Emma supposed.

She leaned forward and pressed her lips upon his. The magister's mouth was frozen in surprise a short moment before it melted like butter and molded to her flesh. He wrapped an arm around Emma's waist, pulling her closer and deepening the kiss. Emma kissed him back with as much vigour, though her eyes remained open while his were shut in passion. When she felt Danarius's tongue enter her mouth, she greeted it with her own, sliding the wet flesh against him. Danarius gasped against her mouth and pressed himself harder against her. When she felt his arousal graze her upper thigh, she began to lose her brashness. Just what after this? What was she to do now? Emma flinched as Danarius's hand slid inside her robes to rest upon her bare hip. Harmless, but where would it lead? Her lips became rigid against his mouth when the intruding hand began trailing upwards toward her breasts-

"I'm sorry, should I come back later?"

Larus was standing in the doorway, flush contradicting the roll of his eyes.

"No," Danarius's voice was gruff against Emma's lips. He turned away from her with visible effort and pointed to the elf. "He needs healing."

Larus crossed the room and knelt beside Fenris. Before Emma could move to join him, the healer already decided Fenris's cause for unconsciousness.

"A sleeping spell."

Emma stared at the elf in surprise. "A sleeping spell?" Relief followed the initial startle. Fenris was alright, Fenris was unharmed.

"That's what it is."

She exchanged a look with Danarius. Judging by his equal bemusement, the magister had not anticipated so gentle a spell himself.

"A weak one, too," Larus continued. "He should be awake any second now." The healer snapped his fingers beside the elf's ear and the green eyes flickered open.

Larus immediately turned to Danarius. "I must return to my affairs, I shall see you for supper." He said the words in one breath and strode from the room.

Danarius chuckled at the abruptness of it and stepped to the door, as well. "I must away, myself, Emma." His smile was warm and almost sad, as if he regretted their separation for even a moment. "Return directly from the kitchens for our reading."

"Yes."

Danarius's smile widened as he disappeared behind the door.

Emma turned to find the elf staring at her with eyes full of pure...

_fury._

"What is it?" she cried in surprise.

Fenris ground the word out like it was glass cutting his tongue.

"_Kiss._"

vVv


	25. When you look at me

vVv

The elf's voice shook in anger when Emma did not answer.

"What was that?"

"Fenris," Emma sputtered, grappling for an explanation. What could she say without alerting him to her plan? "I-"

"You think I don't know what you're doing?" Fenris snorted humorlessly and glared up into her eyes from where he lay. His voice dropped so low that it beckoned Emma nearer. She took a step toward him and instantly regretted it. The elf grabbed Emma's hand, yanking her to him, and she crashed painfully to her knees. She braced a hand against his chest and winced at the dull ache beginning in both legs.

"Sorry," Fenris muttered, the anger fizzling out from his eyes. "I'm sorry," he repeated more quietly. "But, please," the elf covered the feminine hand on his chest with one of his own, "don't."

"Don't what?" Emma feigned ignorance. She wasn't about to give up on her plan so easily. Why should she have to carry the burdens of watching her friend being raped?

The elf's eyes filled with a gentle sorrow that made Emma's heart clench, and her resolve, falter.

Before she could agree to anything against her will, Emma pushed off the elf's chest into a stand. She stared down at him, reaching her hand out.

"It's about time for supper and it seems Danarius does not require you. What would you like to do?"

The elf ignored her splayed fingers and pulled himself off of the couch. "I haven't yet seen Ara," he grumbled. The switching in topics did not go unnoticed by Fenris and he seemed to resent her for it. He could sulk all he liked; Emma wasn't going to budge on this.

"Then, let's go now," Emma was always happy for the chance to see her friend, and Larus came as a happy bonus. Since Arathea had been attacked, the healer never seemed to leave her side. Emma smiled at the possible developments between them. How romantic would that be, with their huge differences in status? Emma dismissed the blaring likeness to her own life. No, this was different from hers. This was pure and innocent.

Emma waited while Fenris fetched his tunic, where it had been drying by the fire and pulled it over his chest.

"Will you need to wear your armor?"

"Only when I guard Danarius, which I am not."

Once Fenris was suitably dressed, the pair made their way to the slave quarters. They passed several gawking guests on the way, some so bold as to stop them in their tracks and greet Emma. She didn't mind but Fenris seemed more and more uncomfortable with each encounter.

"Not all of them are bad, you know," Emma murmured as they rounded a corner that delivered them to the common hall. "Some of them are really very kind."

"To _you_," Fenris muttered. "_You_ are not an elf."

Emma bit her lip in embarrassment, realizing she had spoken inappropriately. Who was she to pretend to know of Tevinter discrimination? Emma would never face the same prejudices as the other slaves and knew not of what they pertained of.

Thankfully, they reached Arathea's chamber before Emma could mentally punish herself in earnest. Fenris announced their presence with a quiet knock.

"Who comes?" Ara's voice was worn and dim behind the oaken barrier.

"Emma and Fenris," he responded.

"Oh," Emma thought she detected a hint of disappointment in the answer, but perhaps it was too muffled. "Please, come in."

Fenris opened the door and stepped inside, Emma just after him.

Arathea was laid out in her cot, back resting against the wall. Two elaborately designed pillows were fluffed behind her. Emma guessed that a certain noble had set them there, internally laughing at their contrast to the dank room.

"Fenris," Arathea smiled, reaching her hand out. To Emma's surprise, Fenris crossed the room and took it in his, giving her fingers a squeeze. "It's good to see your face."

"It's good to see yours." Fenris's hard face softened a little. "You look well."

Arathea beamed at the compliment and withdrew her hand with an affectionate pat. "I _feel _well. Which is more than I could have ever hoped after what happened. I have you two to thank, Larus tells me."

Emma stepped forward with a small smile. "Well, Larus is the true person to thank. He's been at your side through all of this mess." She glanced about the small room, as if he would emerge from the shadows. "Where is he, anyway?"

The smile chipped at the corners of Arathea's lips, but she quickly picked up the pieces and smothered her ill feelings. "He's deemed me well and said his goodbyes." Though Arathea had managed to repossess her smile, sadness was set deep in her honest eyes. "He says I'm fit to attend my duties in the morn."

"Oh," Emma mused with a frown. She had thought something was brewing between them. No, she _knew. _Both of them had seemed so entranced with the other, though Larus was more reluctant in his curt affections. "Surely, he'll want to check on you again, as a friend. Not just a healer."

Arathea smiled and lowered her head to stare at the blanket pulled over her legs. She idly fingered a loose strand as she spoke. "I don't think he'll be wanting to see me again."

"What makes you say…" A glare from Fenris caused the words to lose their way from Emma's mouth. She gave him a questioning frown.

Arathea's shoulders began to quake, the damage already done. Brown locks fell into her face as she hunched over and wiped lightly at her cheeks. Her hands were gleaming in wetness when she pulled them away.

Emma hurried forward and sat on the edge of the bed. She ignored the elf's disapproving cough as she threw her arm around the sniffling woman. He didn't want Emma to press the subject, for some reason, but it obviously needed a good addressing. Arathea was in pain. "There, now. You can tell us." Emma pushed the loose hair behind her pointed ears, quietly cooing comforts. "What's happened?"

Arathea didn't respond to Emma's words, though she did lean into her touch. For a long time, they remained that way.

"I'm such a fool," she finally whispered. "A silly girl who knows nothing of the world."

Emma hushed the elf's personal assaults and wound another arm around her slumped form. Arathea burrowed her face in Emma's neck as quiet whimpers pushed past her lips. The small moans gave way to shaky sighs, followed by choked hiccups. Before long, the elf was sobbing with such pain that Emma's own eyes stung with tears. She glanced at Fenris and stiffened.

He was glaring hard at the poor woman, arms crossed and looking very much like he wanted to shake the cries out of her. Emma could see in his eyes that he knew exactly why Arathea was upset. He had been so gentle, just moments ago. What could Arathea have done to anger him? She's been bedridden for nearly a week. Emma glowered at him until her sharp stare pierced his attention. She hoped her distaste was plainly written across her face, as it was on his. No matter what Arathea had done, she still deserved their affections in her time of need.

Emma decided to press the question again, leaning forward to lay her cheek against the woman's head. "What's happened?" She wouldn't allow her friend to drown in sorrow when there may be something Emma could do to pull her ashore.

To her surprise, Arathea blurted out the words with no further hesitation.

"I told Larus that I love him."

Emma took in a breath. The statement had caught her off guard, though she had suspected the elf's feelings. Hearing it so plainly expressed was another matter. Perhaps her startled confusion laid in how upset Arathea was. With the way she had been acting, it seemed far more likely that Demetri had discovered where she slept and visited her in the night. No, _this_ seemed a happy occasion. And if Emma was anyone to judge, the healer had displayed a certain gentleness with the elf that stretched outside the walls of caretaking.

"Well, that's good!" Emma smiled, rubbing the elf's arm in encouragement. "That must have required much courage."

"It required more than courage," Fenris scolded from behind them, "A vast amount of idiocy was also needed."

"Fenris," Emma hissed over her shoulder before returning to the woman. She had shrunk even smaller upon hearing his words.

"No, he's right," Arathea murmured softly, "Larus thought it was stupid, too."

"What did he say?"

"He said that I am a fool, that I know nothing of things outside this castle," her voice broke as she continued, raising a hand to still her quivering chin. "That we could never be together, even if he returned my feelings, because I am a slave and he is a noble magister." Arathea gripped at Emma's robe, pulling her closer as she began to sob again, "Oh, Emma! I'm such a fool. I _know _better, I do! A human mage with an elven slave, it's preposterous. But he was so kind and warm that I had forgotten!"

Fenris stepped forward and laid a hand upon Arathea's back. His words were more gently delivered, but they held the same disapproval. "He could have decided to do more than scold you."

"I know," she moaned brokenly. "But it's the truth. I love him, Fenris, I-"

"Those words are a poison to you. Bury them along with your blighted feelings for that mage."

Arathea nodded in defeat against Emma's chest, who didn't know what to say. This was beyond her until she sorted her thoughts. In her mind, it was very simple. They cared for each other and that was that. But she knew little of Tevinter politics nor the socially accepted customs. Perhaps, she could talk to Larus...Emma idly pet Arathea's back until her tears quieted and she was fitful enough to be laid back in bed.

"We'll bring you some supper," Emma said, smoothing the light brown hair from Arathea's cheeks. "Anything you'd like in particular?"

"Chocolate," she sniffed. Emma smiled and gave her hand a final pat before rising and making for the door. She heard Fenris murmur a soft parting before his footsteps sounded behind her.

vVv

The pair ate their meals in a heavy silence. When Emma had promised the elf to share supper with him that evening, this was not what she had in mind. She watched the brooding man with narrowed eyes as he uncharacteristically picked at his cinnamon roll.

Emma had made several attempts to engage Fenris in small chat, but he rejected each advance with a curt, one-word response. _Yes, no, mm. _

"Are you not hungry?" Emma asked in yet another endeavor to pull him from his thoughts. "Sweet rolls are your favorite."

"Mm," Fenris grunted, in response to either or both. His eyes stared off into the unknown as he picked apart the steaming bread. She stepped into his line of vision, forcing him to acknowledge her presence.

"What has your mind so preoccupied?"

His eyes darkened and he ripped his gaze from her, at last tearing off a chunk of bread with his teeth. Emma felt a gnawing suspicion that he only took the bite for an excuse to remain silent.

"Fenris, you've hardly said a thing to me since…" she trailed off as a blush crept up her neck.

Fenris swallowed the bread without chewing and opened his lips in reply, "Since you threw yourself at Danarius."

Emma began to sputter a protest at such a brash statement, "I didn't _throw_ myself-"

"I woke up to find you being kissed by him. And then I found that you were kissing him back." He smiled coldly, tossing his half eaten roll into a nearby bin. "Imagine my surprise." He took a slow step toward her and Emma shuddered at the dangerous glint in his eyes. "I thought to myself, 'What could have caused this sudden affection?' And then I remembered that piteous look on your face, the one you passed to me last night. I remembered the tear that rolled down your cheek."

Emma flinched in surprise as the elf lifted a finger to trace the phantom tear mark. His fingers were cold against her skin. She stumbled a few steps back and turned to leave the kitchens, Fenris following close behind. Emma didn't want the others to overhear their conversation, or detect the fierce reddening of her skin.

The empty hall was dark, save for a single candle that burned feet away, casting shadows over the pair's faces as they stared from each end of the hall. The elf's eyes gleamed in the darkness, roaming Emma's face as tan fingers traced his markings.

"I remembered your face and knew that, in your deranged mind, you believed that kissing Danarius would _help _me."

Emma bit her lip. She couldn't let the damned elf talk her out of saving him from the magister's advances. Emma had seen the elf's face, as well, that night. She saw the bitter pain in his eyes. The humiliation. It wasn't going to happen again if she could help it. With this in mind, Emma struggled for something to say that would quell his concern.

"Has it occured to you that I might actually _want _Danarius?"

"Yes," the elf answered quietly, face too dark to read in the shadows. He crossed the hall and reached two hands to press against the wall behind Emma so that she was trapped between his arms. "A thousand times. Every instant that he captures your attention," Fenris bent his arms so that he was closer, their chests nearly meeting. Emma could feel the heat radiating from her cheeks as her heart accelerated beyond what should be humanly possible. "His every touch of your skin," he brought a hand down to her face, cupping a cheek in his palm. "But your face," he whispered, "it only changes, fills with lust…"

He dragged the hand beneath her jaw and gently raised it to force her eyes into his. Emma felt her legs weaken as she became entranced with the sight of his startlingly green orbs.

"...when you look at _me_."

vVv


	26. Wash you

_Leyshla requested a bit of a longer chapter this time, so here it is! Thank you for all the motivational reviews. Truly, I would have stopped writing this story in its early stages if it wasn't for your support._

vVv

"_Your face only changes when you look at me…"_

The words floated in the silence that grew between them like a thick syrup, warm and stifling. Time seemed to pause, the weight of Fenris's observation crushing the seconds into stillness. Emma's mouth was dry with the words that clung to her tongue. She swallowed back the discomfort and licked her lips.

Fenris let out the gust of air he had been holding in his lungs, and time resumed. Emma felt the cool mint roll in a soft caress against her face. There would never be a smell she liked more, Emma decided. The elf's ears were darkened in embarrassment or anger as he let the arms trapping Emma fall limply at his sides. He leaned away, taking a step back, and brought a finger to trace the pale markings.

"You always do that when you're flustered." Emma spoke in a daze as she followed the fingers roaming his arm.

Fenris looked down at his ministrations with a furrowed brow.

"It calms me."

"Calms you," she echoed in an attempt to remain focused. It was difficult with the words Fenris had spoken replaying over and over in her mind, filling the space with cotton fluff and heat.

"Yes," Fenris replied with just as much distance in his tone. Perhaps he was full of fluff and heat, as well. "I find that pain provides a good distraction."

"Pain?" Emma was being pulled back to the corridor and away from the earlier scene. "It hurts to touch them?"

"Mm."

Fenris was still far away, eyes searching the halls for something she couldn't see. Emma sensed that he would not find it on this night, so she pushed off the wall and backpedaled a few steps along the corridor.

"We should go." She turned around and began walking in earnest, afraid that passing the elf a final glance would trap her feet in that thick, warm syrup again. Besides, "Danarius will not be pleased if we linger."

"Yes," Fenris muttered a distance behind her, having roused from his stupor, "we mustn't keep your fiance waiting."

If Fenris had intended for his words to cut Emma's flesh, he was successful. She bled a trail along the many halls, hushed into a confused and sad quiet. How could he affect her so easily, with just his mouth? One minute, she was warm and oozing with foreign feelings that tingled inside her chest. And the next, she felt cold and aching. Emma absently wondered how she made him feel. What sort of sensations did she make him experience in her presence?

_They travelled the length of the castle in this manner, each contemplating their own perceptions of what had begun and where it would lead them._

vVv

The pair rounded a corner that would lead them to Danarius's private corridor, just after the end of the guests' chambers.

Hadriana and Demetri stood just beyond the turn and Emma flinched in surprise. _Bloody brilliant_, Emma thought with a sigh. The two people that wanted to harm her most, lingering at the end of their trek. She wanted to make a run for it and avoid the encounter altogether. But Emma knew she had to stand her ground and hold her chin high.

"Hello, Demetri, Hadriana," She smiled at each of them with as much cordiality as she could muster.

The two mages turned to look at Emma, noticing her for the first time. Hadriana's face immediately grew resentful and hostile. She crossed her arms and leaned her frail body on one hip. Demetri was almost more frightening to behold, with his leer and narrowed eyes. She had seen him a good many times among the herds of guests, and she had never seen him smile once. His teeth made a great deal more appearances when they were away from the other Tevinters. Excluding Hadriana, apparently. What were they doing together? Emma didn't like the feeling it set in her belly. Dangerous.

"Slave girl, good evening," Demetri dipped his head in a mocking bow before flitting his stare to the elf at her side. "Taking the 'little wolf' for a walk?"

Emma frowned in confusion at the implied quotations.

"It is 'Fenris' in Arcanium," Demetri offered.

"Oh," Emma stifled the gnawing urge to roll her eyes, "how clever of you, then."

The insult was not lost on Demetri, whose lips twitched around his smile. Hadriana glared harder, all but reaching for her staff to set Emma's flesh ablaze.

"Going to visit my uncle?"

"Yes."

"We missed you at dinner," Demetri drawled. "My sister was beside herself with disappointment. As was I," he took a step toward Emma, ignoring the elf entirely, and cupped a hand beneath her chin. "I was hoping to hear more from that insolent mouth of yours." His thumb brushed her bottom lip, "Maybe, if you aren't too tired after your time with Danarius…," his voice dropped low as he angled her face up to his, "...you could drop by my chambers for a visit."

Emma slapped his hand away, scowling deeply as she turned to continue down the corridor.

"Come, Fenris," she snapped, knowing he wouldn't be able to abandon the mages without a formal goodbye unless she commanded him to. The elf quickly reached her side and they both rounded the corner and crossed the long hall that led to Danarius's chambers.

"I hate that bastard," he growled.

"As do I."

vVv

They found Danarius sprawled out on the couch when they entered his chambers. He had already disrobed into his tunic and undergarments. A book lay forgotten on his belly and moved with each breath he took. The magister stared into the hearth's depths, the light of flames glinting against the brandy glass hanging loosely from his fingertips. He lolled his head in the pair's direction when they approached him, setting a lazy gaze on Emma's face.

He reached out a hand to her and she readily accepted it. No more flinching, no more hesitations. Emma reminded herself that she _must_ meet his needs to protect her friend.

Danarius quietly nudged her fingers about with his own, pushing them this way and that. He seemed so content with their small contact, a quiet smile in his eyes. Emma noticed that the tired lines that had been carved into his face over the course of the day began to soften. He pulled her hand to his lips and pressed a gentle kiss upon the skin.

"Good evening, my flower," he murmured, brushing a thumb over the spot his lips had touched.

"Good evening."

"You gave me quite a fright this morning."

Emma winced at the memory, having seemed so distant after she slept away the day. The desperate look on Fenris's face, the tears that streaked his cheeks, the quivering hands that held her.

"_Please, don't do that to me again," _he had whispered.

She had given him quite a fright, as well.

"I'm sorry," she said, glancing at Fenris and hoping he would hear the double apology.

Danarius returned his gaze to the shivering flames, his hand still clasping Emma's. He heaved a long sigh as the frosty eyes tightened in anger.

"We both know who is to blame. I had wanted to leave you unaware of Demetri's aggression toward you, but he wiped away the possibility when he came to smother his attempt at murder in your face. Foolish coward." He sighed again and rolled his shoulders, releasing the tension that had built in his muscles. His eyes flickered back to Emma's and he squeezed her hand. "I cannot punish him for what he has done. As much as I would like to. He's untouchable. He's the Archon's son. I am sorry."

Emma slowly nodded her understanding.

"We can't try and convince him to leave in an inoffensive manner?"

"Oh, believe me, I've brought that very subject up in conversation more times than is polite. He has decided to stay through to our wedding. He'll be here for another four weeks. Many of them are doing the same. Some guests must travel long roads and seas to get home. They don't want to return to their cities, only to leave again."

"I see."

Danarius nodded and patted her hand with a tired smile.

"Now," he grunted as he lifted himself from the couch. "How about a nice, hot bath to cleanse away the day?"

Emma blinked in surprise, gasping when Danarius pressed a hand to her waist and guided her to the private baths. It was a room, joint with the magister's, that only he could access.

Emma planted her feet in the fur rug and leaned away from his palm. "I only just bathed this morning," she protested.

"So I heard," he snorted. "Come, it will be relaxing. And here," he strode to his desk and unburied _Akin to a Beast _from the scattered parchment. His smile was much more lively by the time he crossed the room and pushed the book into Emma's hands. "We can enjoy our reading in there." Danarius leaned forward and yanked open the door, revealing a large rock hall.

"Danarius, I'm not keen. I nearly drowned." Emma scrambled for a fitting excuse, just like she promised herself she wouldn't. Emma was already straying from her plan. Now that the moment was staring her in the face, she was too frightened to reach out and seize it.

"Emma," the magister began to object, staring longingly between her and the open door. After a long minute of this, Danarius finally groaned and delved inside the room himself.

Fenris immediately strode to the bathroom, as well, and eased the door open. Emma, wide-eyed, threw a hand out to clench his tunic.

"_What are you doing_?" she hissed through her teeth.

Fenris raised a brow. "I'm going to take a ba-"

"_I thought you said the baths were unavailable to you._"

"The _guest _bathroom," he corrected. "Not Danarius's. I was cross when we spoke of it because I prefer bathing alone to bathing with him."

When Emma didn't reply, he gently pushed her hand away and disappeared behind the door.

"Wait…," she whispered, reaching splayed fingers to the door as it shut with a _click_.

Emma stood alone in the chamber, staring at the golden knob with round eyes and a painfully fast heartbeat. Not only was she _not _satisfying the magister's needs with her own body, she was allowing Fenris to enter that baths alone and be subject to Maker knew what. No, _she _knew what, she'd seen it with her own eyes.

She clenched her robe in a tight fist as she paced before the door, _Akin to a Beast _still in her other hand.

"Oh, _blight _it all."

Emma undid the sash at her robe and began to shrug out of it, but she re-tied the waist when she realized she didn't want to go nakedly flouncing inside. Instead, Emma reached for the doorknob and hurried into the baths before she could talk herself out of it.

She rushed around the corner and into the bath chamber. She stopped in her tracks.

"There she is! See? I told you, Fenris."

Emma's mouth opened in shock as she gawked at the extraordinary place she'd stepped into.

"What...in the…how…?

They were in a huge cavern, similar to the ones below the castle, where Danarius stored his weapons and potions. Only these…

These were _beautiful. _

Elegant, candle chandeliers hung from the rock ceiling fifty feet above their heads. Smaller candles floated on wooden bowls in the water, illuminating the blackness with their golden glow. The rock was a deep black, with thousands of vibrant crystallites that jutted along the walls, sparkling in the small flames. The "bath" itself was not a bath, but a natural hot spring that took up most of the cavern. The water was steaming thickly up to the rocky ceiling, where it escaped through a wide opening at the top. Emma gasped at the sight of sparkling stars beyond the hole, the round moon shining a single beam of light into the spring's center.

"Do you like it?" Danarius asked and Emma jolted in surprise to hear him so close, turning her head about in search of him. He was across the room, about a hundred feet away, but it sounded as though his voice were beside her ear. The water carried the sound in sonorous waves that echoed against the rock walls.

"Yes," Emma replied, "It's..."

"Needless to say, this is my favorite room in the house."

Danarius and Fenris were seated a healthy distance apart, to Emma's relief, on the far edge of the spring.

"Good, you brought the book," Danarius's hand broke the water's surface in a splash and motioned for her to come forward. "Come, let us find out what happens next."

"Right," Emma said with a shaky breath. She carefully undid the sash and eased it apart with unsteady fingers. It was embarrassing, to know that Danarius was watching her as she disrobed. But it was utterly humiliating to feel the elf's eyes on her skin as it came into view. Humiliating and staggeringly erotic.

She quickly pulled away the robe, like a bandage that stuck in dried blood to one's skin, and let it fall in a heap beside the men's clothes. Emma stepped forward and slid a little on the wet rock.

"Careful," Danarius called.

"It's slippery," Emma complained, carefully toeing her way along.

She heard Danarius stand from his seat and kept her eyes focused on her steps.

"Need any help?"

"No, no, I'm fine. I have to learn how to walk on my own, eventually."

Danarius chuckled, but nevertheless made his way to the opposite end of the spring. He leaned against the bath's edge when he neared and reached an arm out. Emma flinched when his hand flashed just before her.

"It's difficult to get in for first-timers," he explained as she accepted his hand, using it to support her maneuvers. "Fenris has the scars to prove it."

Emma winced at the thought of falling onto the sharp rock beneath her, grateful to have his help, persistent as it was. She tried not to think about her breasts and nether bits being in plain sight as he guided her with his hand. Unsuccessfully.

"That's it. Now, here's the tricky part."

Emma saw what he meant; it was a rather steep climb down into the waters. Dangerous for someone as uncoordinated on foreign surfaces as her. She knelt down on both knees and leaned back on her arse, scooting her legs forward to dangle over the edge.

"That's good, nice and easy."

She hesitated a moment before pushing off the ledge and closing her eyes.

A pairs of thick arms wrapped around her waist and pulled her into the water. Emma yelped as the heat engulfed her body, opening her eyes in surprise. Danarius was grinning at her, hands still clasped at her sides in the water.

She bobbed on her toes, the water nearly reaching her chin, and holding the book above her head in one hand.

"Is it all this dee-" she began to ask as her toes slipped on the rocky ground and she fell into the water's depths. Emma pushed her arms up and out of the water in a plea for assistance. Danarius immediately grabbed her wrists and pulled her back into his arms. He was laughing heartily.

"I guess we'll have to save the book for another night."

Emma gasped and noticed the soggy book in her hands. "Oh, no!" she cried.

"It will be fine," Danarius assured her as he prodded the book from her fingers and set it on the spring's edge. "I'll lay it out before the fire when we finish bathing. You want to float?"

"What?"

"Do you swim?"

"Never," Emma admitted shyly.

"Thought so," he smiled. "Lie back, look at the stars."

He laid Emma out on the water's surface, hands hovering beneath her back. When she began to sink, he lightly lifted his hands so that she bobbed back up. "Relax everything," he instructed. "Don't move at all."

Emma did as he said and let her limbs slacken, heaving a slow sigh that initially made her sink deeper into the water. She remained still, however, and leveled out. She floated and stared up through the sky light, watching the stars twinkle as if nothing else mattered. A relieving sort of lie that she would live, just in this moment. Just thirty more seconds…

Danarius gently pushed her along as she floated, leading her to the farther end of the baths, where Fenris had been seated. Thinking of the elf, Emma suddenly felt conscious of her nudity and moved out of her lying position. Her heels met the ground and the water only reached her chest. This was much better.

"There, sit," Danarius pointed to a row of blunt rocks that could serve as seats and Emma selected the one that jutted deepest into the water without putting her under. The dark water covered her chest and she felt more at ease.

That is, until she glanced at Fenris, who sat only ten feet away, eyeing her as he always did. He was gorgeous, a true elven god, his golden brown skin like the sun. Emma lingered at his chest, imagining what the hard muscles would feel like beneath her hand. She noticed his eyes roaming her face carefully, as if looking for something in the contours. She blushed under the fierce inspection and looked away. The elf let out a soft chuckle, having found what he was looking for.

_"Only changes when you look at me…"_

Emma winced in embarrassment and felt tempted to hide beneath the water, after all.

Danarius sat at a large rock beside her, holding an assortment of soaps and lathers.

He selected the cocoa lather and set the others on the ledge.

"I'll wash you."

Emma made a pleading face at which the magister smiled laughingly as he poured the thick, brown ooze into his hands. He rubbed them together, spreading the lather over his palms, before holding his hands out and giving a gentle command.

"Come here."

No hesitation. Quelling his desires. Can't let him have Fenris. Fenris hates it. More than Emma. Does Emma even hate it?

Emma repeated this mantra in her head as she peeled herself away from the safety of her seat and climbed onto Danarius's perch. It was easily big enough for the two of them, with room to spare. Her legs dangled over the edge, only half of her thighs in the water.

Danarius dipped his hands into her hair, massaging her head in slow circles as he distributed the lather into her locks. He kneaded the muscles at the base of her head, loosening the tightness there. It was anything but unpleasant. She wouldn't pretend otherwise. Even if Hadriana was the one touching her this way, Emma wouldn't be able to stop the sighs and soft moans from escaping her lips. As they did now.

Danarius hands travelled to her shoulders, where they worked the muscles and palmed her soreness. She inhaled sharply when his fingers pushed at a spot between her left shoulder and neck.

"Does it hurt?" Danarius questioned as he nudged at the spot.

"Yes, but…" Emma gasped as he pushed at the muscle with a bit more force.

"It feels good?"

Emma nodded and Danarius continued to work at the sensitive area before moving to her arms and lower back.

Emma stiffened when his hands crossed her sides and spread over her belly, rising to her chest.

"Danarius…" she began.

The magister ignored her protest and cupped her breasts in each hand, massaging them as he had with all the other muscles. This was a bit different, though. The sensations were different.

She wished it was Fenris touching her. The thought of Fenris running his elegant hands all over her body made a heat that rivaled the warm waters pool in her belly. She gazed at Fenris, eyes half closed, and wishing, _wishing_…

_"Because I want you to."_

_ "I want to touch you, too."_

The elf's want mirrored hers. It was written, painfully clear on his face. Emma blushed at the simplicity of it. The unshielded lust that made him flick a tongue out to wet his lips. They had both become aroused by the magister's touches. And while they each felt ashamed of it, they wanted more.

vVv

_Fenris was clenching his fists so tight that his fingernails pierced the flesh of his palms. Danarius was rubbing Emma's pink buds between his fingers. He was squeezing the round breasts in each hand, eliciting sighs and whimpers from her full lips. She arched her back into his touch, blushing at her own desire for more. _

_ But she wanted _him. _Emma stared at him as though _he _were the one touching her. It was enough to make all the blood in his body rush to his cock. _

_ Fenris wanted her. Fenris wanted her more than... more than…_

_ Let go of her. Touch her more. Get your filthy hands off of her. Make her scream in pleasure._

_He was confused and ashamed and so full of need that he could hardly stand it. They wouldn't see if he touched himself beneath the black water. They wouldn't see. He reached a hand between his legs and his throbbing member ached with the promise of release. And then…_

_Danarius stopped. _

_The elf forced his hand back into a fist._

_He was relieved. And suffocatingly dissatisfied. _

vVv


	27. I will make you afraid

vVv

"I'll let you tend to the rest," Danarius said, pressing the cocoa lather into her hands. He lifted Emma by the hips and moved out from under her. She squirted the lather into an open palm and spread it across both hands. Fenris did not move, she detected from the corner of her view. Eyes cast down to the rippling waters, she ran her hands over the skin Danarius did not touch. When she dipped her hands in the water to wash her intimate areas, her eyes flickered to the elf in embarrassment.

He watched her closely, head slightly cocked to the side. It was the small smirk playing about his lips that made Emma flush anew. He was giving her a silent dare: to touch herself beneath the waters. Emma could almost hear the words in her ear as he continued to stare sultrily.

_"Unsatisfied? Will you do something about it?"_

Emma furrowed her brow in answer and he chuckled softly, smile widening. She quickly washed herself, purposefully hurrying her touches.

Danarius had been washing his own hair. His arms were stretched above his head, hands buried into the peppered locks. His body was toned in a lithe, animalistic way, not unpleasing to the eyes. Emma hadn't previously acknowledged his attractiveness; not with a gorgeous elf as a distraction to her eyes. But watching the smooth skin twist around his maneuvers, the muscles of his stomach tensing with every bend, the sharp, classic features of his face; Emma couldn't ignore the fact that Danarius was a handsome man.

So why her? He was undoubtedly handsome, an accomplished magister, and climbing the ranks in Tevinter's government. Fenris had said the magister carried no shortage of women to choose from, given his reputation. Larus had even mentioned a long-time love interest; a certain Ellis of Miranthous. What would cause him to select so obscure a bride?

Danarius caught her eyes roaming his body and raised a quizzical brow.

"Your hair looks different," Emma blurted with reddened cheeks. "Did you cut it?"

The magister raised a hand to his chest in mock distress, "Weeks ago! Have you not noticed until now? I'm hurt," he fingered the peppered locks that laid thickly against his brow. They were considerably shorter than the ones Emma remembered. His hair had settled about his shoulders. Now, it was even shorter than the elf's. "And I thought it looked good," he sighed.

"It does," Emma stammered, not knowing what else to say. "I suppose I've been so preoccupied with the past couple week's events that I failed to notice."

Danarius smiled, the playful sadness gone from his features. "And what a couple weeks it has been." He held his hand out, "Come." Emma grasped his fingers and allowed him to guide her to the edge of the spring. He lifted her by the hips and sat her on the ledge before pushing himself out.

"Don't idle for too long," Danarius called over his shoulder as he strode out of the baths and into his bedchambers.

Emma's legs still dangled over the edge. She heard the door click shut. Fenris and Emma were alone.

She stared at him, finding it more and more difficult to draw breaths as he smiled at her from across the spring. The languid smile was so uncharacteristic, so seductive. Emma's heart beat rapidly in her chest

..._ah_...

And the steam that wafted all around seemed cool in comparison to the boiling blood inside her veins. Fenris drew a hand from the water, slowly, and Emma watched the streams of water thin into droplets from his fingertips. The hand drew back to rest on the ledge and Fenris gave a lazy shove, sending him into the spring. He waded across the waters, arms pushing against the surface. Candles drifted by, flickering lights against his skin. The moon illuminated his hair, turned it silver and beautiful.

..._ah_…

Emma felt paralyzed as Fenris approached. He was coming closer, closer. The elf stopped just before her knees and placed two hands on the ledge, just beside each of her thighs. His thumb grazed her skin. The small touch sent Emma into a wave of unmistakable lust. She had to focus hard so that she wouldn't faint or pull the elf into a kiss. He was torturing her.

He shook his head with a weak smile. "You're torturing me, d'you know that?" Emma's stomach clenched. The same lust...he was experiencing it, too. She unconsciously squeezed her thighs together and an ache pulsed between her legs. Emma gasped around the feeling, cheeks flushing in embarrassment.

Fenris growled and pushed himself out of the water, supporting all his weight on his arms. Emma was trapped between his arms again, thinking that it was a rather nice place to be.

"Say it again," the elf's voice was low as he stared down at her lips. "Please."

"Say what again?" she whispered. "I didn't say any-"

"Say you want to touch me." He gazed hard at Emma's mouth, as if he might catch the words that fell from her lips.

"I want to touch you."

Fenris closed his eyes, arms quivering beneath the weight of his body. Emma scooted back to give him room, legs held tightly together and eyes drifting up toward the ceiling. Fenris chuckled darkly and it echoed against the walls of her heart.

"Are you going to fuck Danarius, Emma?"

Emma frowned and kept her eyes pointed above, watching the stars twinkle as she replied.

"I'm going to do what he wants, Fenris."

"Are you afraid?" She could hear his voice coming closer, his body sliding across the wet rock.

"No."

"Mm."

Emma jolted as a finger slid up the length of her leg, her eyes widening and breaths escaping in shaky gasps. She closed her eyes and sighed softly as Fenris's palm swiped across her thigh. Warm lips brushed her jaw and Emma's head swam with the scent of mint, stronger than ever before.

"If you play this little game any further," Fenris's voice was rough in her ear, hand still pressed against Emma's thigh. "If you seek him...Emma?" His lips left her jaw and Emma slowly opened her eyes. Fenris was bent over her, their mouths only a hair's width apart. He spoke the next words in a husky whisper and sent a shiver down Emma's spine,

"I will make you afraid."

His lips brushed hers as they formed the utterance. Emma leaned up to claim the elf's mouth, unable to bear the painful aching in her chest any longer...but he leaned away with a dark smile.

He was already wearing his undergarments, having pulled them on when she was facing the ceiling. Emma watched with half lidded eyes as he yanked the thin tunic over his body. It clung to his chest, revealing swirling markings. He stared down at her beneath dark lashes, smirking at her roaming gaze.

"You're idling, Emma."

vVv

_Now, before you get mad, let me explain. This chapter is short because: 1) This scene stands well on its own, don't you think? 2) I'll be posting another long chapter within the next 24 hours. And 3) I like to tease you. It's delicious. Mm! _


	28. Men are the fools

vVv

"Take that sodden robe off," Danarius said around a thick yawn. Emma was pulling back the sheets, about to beneath them. "You'll catch us both a cold." He lay with one hand propping himself against the bed and the other drawing large circles into the sheets. Emma watched his finger trace the floral patterns as she removed the robe from her shoulders. The heat of the fire licked her skin as she exposed herself, drying the droplets that clung to her legs. Danarius's eyes wandered Emma's body and lingered at the more intimate areas, before settling back against the pillows with a sigh. He reached a hand out to Emma when she didn't move to join him.

"What are you doing? Come here."

Emma was elsewhere. She did not even hear the magister's voice. Emma was where Fenris's fingertips trailed up her limbs. Where the moonlight caressed his snowy locks, where a smile stretched his features. Emma was where Fenris begged that she confess her need for him. As his lips brushed her ear, she was there.

"Emma!" Danarius was grinning in amused exasperation, leaning across the edge of the bed to grab her hand. He gave a hard yank when his fingers closed around hers and Emma yelped as she fell against him. She lay there, sprawled over his body and breathing deeply.

After a long moment of laying in the silence, Danarius brought a hand to her back and began to gently drag his nails against the skin. Emma sighed as she settled herself into a sweet fantasy of the fingertips belonging to someone else. She turned her face into Danarius's neck and allowed herself to feel every tingle that his touch extracted. Her eyes drooped closed to the images of white markings on tan skin. The gentle crackling of fire and the slowing breaths of a magister carried her off into deep, deep sleep.

vVv

Emma dreamt of smooth fingertips. Tan, smooth fingertips, tracing the features of her face. Foreign whispers in her ear and mint leaves on her tongue. Fenris.

vVv

_The elf jolted in surprise when he heard his name on her lips. He was bent over her form, a finger paused from its sliding along the length of her nose. Shaking his head, he drew a trembling hand away and returned to the hearth. He sat before it in the stillness, unable to close his eyes for even a fraction as they endlessly wandered back to her. _

_ "In aniff _festa_ lavanium."_

_ '_You make _me_ afraid_.'_

vVv

"Emma, _Emma_...how _long_ are you going to sleep?"

Emma moaned against the fistfull of bedsheets she had brought to her mouth and turned away from the intruding voice.

"I don't actually want to sit here, watching you breathe all cursed morning."

She frowned in distaste and blinked away the sleep that throbbed pleasantly inside her head, She rubbed her eyes with the back of her hand and blinked them open. Emma's eyes didn't have to adjust to the brightness of the room, because it was very dim. She glanced over at the window and saw heavy droplets pounding against the glass. The sound was nice, like falling pebbles all around.

"It's raining really hard, isn't it?" Larus said, following her eyes. He was seated at the edge of the bed, just as Fenris had...yesterday? _It seems like an eternity has passed since then_, Emma pondered in awe.

"I quite like the rain," the healer mused, a hand reaching to absently rub the grainy hairs of his jaw.

"Are you guarding me?" Emma asked with narrowed eyes.

"Yes, I am," he replied matter-of-factly. "And I also wanted to drop by, because you're one of the less boring people in this house."

"Well, that's good, because," Emma sat up in bed and paused, staring down at herself. She was wearing a new dress. It was a creamy white that hugged her chest and flowed delicately down the length of her arms. She lifted a hand to admire the beautiful craftsmanship, knowing immediately that it was En's.

"Danarius saved you the embarrassment of being naked. Again. A new dress. He wanted me to tell you that he likes it."

Emma drew the sheets away from her body and climbed out of bed. "I'm hungry, let's go get something from the kitchens."

"Arath-one of the slaves has already delivered your breakfast."

The small slip reminded Emma of what she was going to say before she had noticed the dress.

"Arathea is cured?"

"Yes," Larus responded quickly. Too quickly. As if he had been bracing himself for that very question from the moment Emma opened her eyes.

She watched him as he fingered at a loose string in his robes, looking all too interested. Larus had been remarkably talkative and now...he seemed robbed of his tongue. He glanced up at her suspicion filled eyes and heaved a sigh, running a hand through his short hair.

"She _is _fine."

"_Physically_, that may be," Emma walked toward the small, round table in the room's center, where a heaping plate of fruits and breads sat, "_Emotionally_, I think that she requires more of your," she smiled as she lifted a green apple to her lips, "care." She took a sharp bite and Larus flinched at the sound.

"That is…," Larus stammered, eyes searching the floor for the best thing to say, "none of my concern."

"It _is _your concern," Emma rolled her eyes. "Larus, you are very concerned."

He lifted his eyes from the floor to fix her with a firm glare. "No, Emma, I am not. I want nothing to do with that elf."

Emma shrugged as her teeth sank into the apple's skin.

"Honestly, she's going to get herself killed, running her mouth off like that." Larus shook his head, a boyish blush coloring his cheeks. "I wonder how many people she's told." He groaned and dropped his head into his hands. "One kiss and the girl confesses her undying love to me."

"Wait," Emma's voice was muffled around a mouth of apple meat, "what?"

Larus's head shot up from his hands and a deeper blush crept up his cheeks. "You mean she didn't tell you?"

"No," Emma said after swallowing, eyes wide, "She only told me about the love confession. Larus, you kissed her?"

"I-she-" he sputtered, rising from his chair. "I…ugh. It's complicated."

"I can manage."

"Right," he said, both hands rubbing his temples. "Right. Fine. So, it's like this:"

vVv

Arathea smiled as Larus read the last sentence, painting the final stroke of the story before snapping the book shut with a sigh. He lifted his eyes up to find the elf's full of tears, that warm smile spreading across her face. The healer frowned and began to ask if her chest was causing any pain when she opened her lips,

"That was a beautiful story," she murmurred.

Larus's heart stuttered and he dropped his gaze back to the closed book. "I suppose," he grunted. _Damn it, damn it, damn it all. Not again._

His foolish heart had begun to act up around the blighted she-elf since she'd woken up on that first night and cringed away from his touch. She was so vulnerable and frightened, her round eyes full of terror, that he felt this..._need_ to soothe. He took her in his arms that first night and told her everything was going to be okay, that she must be brave and recover from her injuries, that he would remain by her side until she was better.

What a fool he was to promise her that. A blighted idiot.

"What was your favorite part-" Arathea winced and brought a hand to her chest.

Larus had already tossed the book aside, as soon as her features tightened a fraction, and was pulling her robes open. Arathea's chest was still smattered with purple bruises, though the internal bleeding had calmed considerably. He still needed to administer a few ounces of potion for every meal and use an inflammatory spell when her aches began.

Arathea sighed in relief the moment his glowing hands made contact with her skin, her already features softening. Larus ran his hands over her chest and soothed the pains, muttering a small incantation to strengthen the spell. They remained in this state for a few slow moments before Larus closed Arathea's robe and leaned back into his seat.

Arathea smiled appreciatively, as she always did whenever he showed her the slightest attention. Larus didn't mind the excessive gratitude. It was much better than the constant bowing and "thank you, master"'s that she had previously spewed.

"What was your favorite part?" Arathea asked again, as if the pains had never wracked her body.

"Of the book?"

"Yes," Arathea giggled in that sinfully adorable manner.

"Erm…" To be honest, Larus hadn't really paid attention to the book. His lips had formed the words and his mouth had made the sounds but he didn't make connections. Larus was too focused on reading long enough down the sentence so that he could lift his eyes and watch Arathea's face as he read the words. She always gave the best reactions.

When something slightly humorous occurred, the elf would breathlessly laugh so hard that Larus was needed to heal her aches. When something sad took place, Arathea was a snivelling mess to the point that Larus had to close the book and speak of other things. And when something..._sexual_ happened...Arathea flushed and gripped the sheets, eyes-wide with childlike curiosity and bewilderment. It drove him mad.

Larus, having given up on fabricating a response, shrugged his shoulders and parried the question back to her.

Arathea's eyes filled with excitement. "Oh, I simply adored the part where Manook came back for Yala. I was so filled with happiness, I thought I might burst. And then they kissed and...it was so…," she smiled as a blush claimed her cheeks, "romantic."

Larus swallowed and occupied himself with the faint contours of his hands.

"Have you ever kissed someone, Larus?"

Larus flinched at the question and lifted his eyes to the elf's. "Of course I have," he frowned at how strangled his voice sounded. He cleared his throat. "I'm not a child."

"No," Arathea agreed, a small smiling creeping about her lips. "I should have known. You must have been kissed many times."

"Have…-" Larus couldn't decide whether to look at the floor, his hands, or the beautiful elf before him, and wound up a feeding hen, bobbing his head to look at them all. "Have you?" He tried so desperately to appear nonchalant, for once thanking the Maker for Arathea's naivety.

She shook her head with a bashful grin.

"Do you want me to?"

Arathea's mouth opened in surprise and Larus nearly looked over his shoulder to see who had been so bold as to offer such a thing. And then he realized _he _was so bold, and a fool and... _blight it_. It's too late to take it back now.

He leaned over quickly and pressed a small kiss against her parted lips before falling back into his chair.

Arathea brought a hand to her lips and traced a finger along the edge of her puckered flesh.

"Larus," she whispered. "I wasn't ready. Could you, maybe, try agai-"

The chair clattered to floor as Larus leapt from its surface and took the elf's face in his hands. He stared into her round eyes a moment before crashing his mouth to hers, his fingers twisting in her sandy locks. Arathea brought a hand to the healer's chest and another around his neck. Larus leaned a bit of his weight on her, enough to push her back against the cot, but not enough to hurt her. He crawled onto the mattress, hands and knees pressed on either side of her. Their lips never broke contact. That is, until Arathea pushed her tongue into Larus's mouth. He inhaled sharply and withdrew his face enough to glare at her.

"I was-" Arathea stammered in embarrassment, "Remember? Mantook did the same thing to Yala during their kiss and I thought-_mmph_."

Larus had claimed her mouth again, a fervent desire shooting through his gut. He quelled the urge to lower his hips to hers when her tongue mangled with his, her hands gripping his hair so hard that it burned his scalp.

She moaned against his mouth and he decided he needed more of the delicious sounds. His mouth left hers to kiss down her jaw and along the length of her neck. Just as he had hoped, Arathea mewled in pleasure, the sound vibrating against his lips.

His hand settled on her waist and he pressed soft kisses on the bruises that his now _enemy_ marked her with. His hands reached to open her tattered robe, to kiss more of her injured flesh, when a dreadfully sweet sentence tumbled in a gasp from her lips.

"_I love you."_

vVv

Emma stared at the healer in awe as he paced about the bedchamber. His hair was wild from the many times that he passed his fingers through it.

"Even if I…," he stopped to throw his hands in the air, "even if I loved her, too," his hands dropped to his sides in a defeated _smack_, "what can be done? She is an elf. Not just a slave, like you. And _elf_! I...what would Mother say?" He laughed humorlessly and collapsed onto the couch. "What would Tevinter say?" Larus draped his arms over his eyes and grew silent. Emma stared at him a long moment before tossing her half eaten apple in the food basket and stepping to sit on the edge of the couch, by his head. She lifted his arm from his eyes and leaned over to gaze at him.

"Who cares?"

Larus's brow furrowed in frustration.

"Everyone!"

"Not everyone," she said with a smile.

The healer's breath hitched and he stared up at her.

"No," Larus murmured, still frowning.

They sat in silence and the minutes ticked by. The healer's shallow breaths deepened as he slowly regained composure.

"No," he finally said again, voice quiet, "not everyone."

Emma's smile widened, pleased with his fast progress. She supposed being in love would speed up one's acceptance to the idea.

"What are you still doing here?" she asked, nudging his shoulder. "Go get her."

Larus leaned up from the couch, turning to frown at her. "I'm meant to watch you…"

"What are you going to do if Demetri comes for me, Larus? Heal him to death? I'm fine, go on."

Larus's eyes flashed to the door, but he shook his head firmly. "No, I'm meant to watch-"

"She was sobbing. She's miserable. You broke her heart when you rejected her like that. She thinks she's a fool, that _you _think she's a fool."

Emma was talking to herself by the end of the last sentence, alone on the couch. She smiled.

"_Men_ are the fools."

vVv


	29. This is non-negotiable

vVv

The wind howled outside the glass windowpane and Emma shivered. The fire burned hot just beside her in Danarius's library, but she felt the biting cold of rain as if it pelted her skin. Tall trees slapped their leaves and thin branches against the glass. Some of the small twigs scratched along the pane, eerily similar to long fingernails.

Emma could enjoy a quiet rain as much as the average individual. The calm, gray skies and plump raindrops atop a wooden roof. It was nice. With a hot cup of tea and a favorite book, the rain could be incredibly unwinding. Emma had dove into the library to do just that; enjoy a good book and a steaming cup of mint tea.

Unlike the average individual, Emma had a rather exaggerated fear of thunder. When she was only six, Emma had wandered into the forest behind her family's house, and couldn't find her way back out. A storm began to brew as she cried and padded through the thick trees. Thunder clapped louder and louder, flashes of lightning appearing above the green foliage. When the booms became too much for little Emma, she curled into a tight ball until Neta, the beloved family servant, found her among the leaves. She sobbed and buried her face into Neta's neck as the elf cooed assurances and the thunder subsided. Ever since then, Emma became full of anxiety when thunder rolled around.

Emma shivered and gripped her book harder when a soft billow of thunder sounded in the distance, as if she had summoned it with the memory. It was far off, Emma reasoned to herself. Perhaps it would pass in a different direction. She brought the hot tea to her lips and took a calming sip. The taste of mint on her tongue eased at the tension in her limbs.

Neither the elf, nor the magister had been present during her wake. Not long after Larus had rushed off, a human servant came with instructions from Danarius. Emma had rolled her eyes as the pubescent messenger read from a long letter that stretched to his stomach.

"_Dear flower, _

_I hope that you are well rested and enjoy the seamstress's newest creation. I think it suits you very well. I am presently engaged in city matters and will return after supper. Please feel free to go about your day with a few of these things in mind:_

_Do not talk to any of the guests without the company of Larus _

_Do not attempt an escape_

_Do not disrupt the slaves' duties_

_Do not take a bath_

_Do not enter the lower parts of the house_

_Do chew your food before swallowing_

(The list went on, to Emma's disgruntlement…)

_See you soon, _

_Danarius" _

The human boy had been grinning by the end of the letter and Emma ushered him out with stained cheeks. Honestly, Danarius knew just how to make her feel like a disobedient child.

Emma sighed and read the same sentence for a fifth time, unable to immerse herself in the story. She had hoped for an escape, a gentle lull of reality. But the present kept creeping its way into Emma's subconscious, spouting images of Fenris's roguish smile and emerald eyes. Her hand absently trailed along her thigh, where the elf had touched. Their erotic exchange in the cavern replayed over and over in her mind without the mercy of pausing. Each time she remembered his carnal plea, Emma forgot how to breathe.

"_Say it again. Please."_

Emma closed her eyes and furrowed her brow. The damned intoxicating words filled her mind, Fenris's rumbling voice reverberating against her skull.

"_Say you want to touch me…"_

She gave up on the book and tossed it against the couch cushions. What was it even about? Emma stared unseeingly at the tall shelves of books that loomed over her, trying to push away the memory. Just a moment's peace, she begged it. Just long enough to extinguish the burning desire that had settled in her stomach since last night.

Emma had wanted Fenris to kiss her. Embrace her. Speak to her in that mesmerising language of his.

"Just a moment," she begged aloud as she gripped tightly at her dress.

A piercing crack of thunder sounded just outside and Emma nearly cried out. She leapt from the couch and stared at the wind beaten window with wide-eyes. The ache inducing thoughts were gone from her mind, but fear taking its place wasn't quite what Emma had in mind when she pleaded for freedom.

Another harsh clap sent Emma sprinting out of the library and into the main corridor. She nearly careened into a guest in her desperate flight.

"You have a knack for that," a drawling voice sounded above her. Emma grimaced before she removed her eyes from the marble floor. Demetri smiled at the terror that was still etched into her face. "What has you so riled?"

She forwent the venomous retort on her tongue, not wanting to remain a moment longer in the foul man's presence and resolved to head downstairs to the servant's quarters. Perhaps En would like help or friendly conversation. Emma was at a loss as to how else she should spend the hours with the absence of cleaning duties and a strict forbidding to distract her friends. She stepped past the magister, intent on this new plan, and gasped when a hand clasped around her wrist.

"I was talking to you," Demetri hissed, smile gone from his lips, as he wheeled her around to face him. "You can't just walk away from the Archon's son."

"Actually," Emma wrenched her hand away from his grasp, "it's quite easy. Allow me to demonstrate."

Demetri lurched forward to snatch her arm before she could give such an example. His fingers dug into her arm and Emma had to frown hard to keep from wincing. "You need to learn some respect," he murmured, eyes darkening around the words, "and I know a few ways to teach you."

"Demetri!" an agitated voice sounded just behind him. The Archon's son scowled before turning to it's speaker, his hand still wrapped tightly around Emma's arm. She craned her neck to see past his shoulder, inching upward on her toes.

Mirima stood on one lecturing hip, arms folded tightly against her bosom.

"What do you think you are doing, brother?"

Demetri's hand tightened in anger around Emma and she couldn't stop the small yelp of pain that pushed past her lips.

"This does not concern you, meddling wench."

Miri's eyes widened into a fury that caused Emma to see the siblings' resemblance for the first time. She did not know who looked more dangerous. Demetri must have felt equally affected by the fierce glare because his hold loosened around her arm.

"I happened to be looking for you, Emma," Mirima's eyes remained focused on Demetri as she addressed her. "Come, let us speak in my chambers." She held a hand out to Emma who gratefully moved past Demetri to accept it.

"Yes," she agreed eagerly. She heard a harsh snort from Demetri, followed by hard, retreating footsteps.

Emma had been looking forward to her chance to speak with the curious woman who acted so unlike the other Tevinters. Damned be the rule that forbade her to speak alone with a guest. She couldn't simply refuse the opportunity and Mirima was hardly a threat, like her brother.

They climbed the stairs and spoke of simple things. Compliments to the others' dress. Complaints about the stormy weather. Inquiries about favorite means of occupation. They shared a similar passion for books and spent the bulk of their journey sharing their favorites. By the time they reached Mirima's chambers, Emma had formed a long mental list of books that she would scour Danarius's library for.

"And then she didn't even _look _at me," Mirima was exclaiming as she opened the door, telling a story of how she walked in on her friend sharing her secrets to an uninvited listener.

"That is incredibly rude," Emma sighed as they traipsed inside, recalling a few of her own poor friendships. Women could be cruel to one another. "Have you spoken since?"

"Yes!" Mirima laughed and rolled her eyes, "She seeks me out during every dinner party, as if it had never happened. I get so mad and uncomfortable each time!"

"I don't blame you."

Mirima's room resembled Danarius's, though in smaller proportions. Its coloring was more neutral to accommodate the common guest, hues of browns and whites scattered everywhere. Emma lightly complimented the chamber and Mirima's bit her lip to hide a surprised giggle.

When Emma stared at her questioningly, Mirima replied, "Well, it's silly to compliment your own home, isn't it?"

Emma blushed and glanced about the cozy chamber, stepping toward the sitting area before the fire where two large chairs sat. "I suppose I don't consider it _mine_."

"It most certainly is!" Mirima piped as she poised herself delicately into the seat's cushion.

The idea of owning such a house made Emma smile to herself. It seemed preposterous to even imagine such a thing.

"Is my brother deeply troubling you?"

Emma blinked at the sudden question, feeling a bit disoriented at how sharp a turn the conversation had taken.

"Well, perhaps," Emma grappled for something to say that would voice her concerns without offending Mirima. He was her brother, after all. It was the same with Carver, on a lesser scale. Many people found him annoying, with his constant complaining and stern features. But Emma wouldn't have him any other way. Perhaps Mirima wouldn't, either. "A little. He can be a bit," she peered at the fire as she struggled for the right word, "_unnerving _at times."

Mirima nodded gravely. "I know," she sighed. "I know and I'm so sorry. He doesn't understand the concept of being a "guest", expecting all to bend to his will just because he's the son of an Archon." She snorted at that. "Honestly, he acts as if he is successor to our father."

"Why isn't he?" Emma asked curiously. She remembered Danarius brushing over the possibility that Demetri didn't want the responsibilities of being Archon. It seemed likely and Emma assumed that it was the reason, if not very close. That is why she stared in quickly quieted surprise when Mirima's eyes flashed with something that contained more of a story. Emma hurried to smother her rudeness.

"I'm sorry, I shouldn't have asked something so personal. It's obviously none of my business."

"No," Mirima said, waving her hand in dismissal. "It's rather simple, really. He didn't want to." Emma's mind buzzed with the notion that it was not the truth. At least, not the whole truth. Someone like Demetri, so inflated and commanding, he was the very type of person that would _want _power over others. Emma found it hard to believe that he would give it all up. The question was, _what could have caused him to relinquish his rights to the title?_

She was struck with the idea that she should tell Danarius this small discovery. Mirima and Demetri were hiding something. He had tasked her with befriending the Archon's daughter so that he could further his political climb. And she was to receive something in return for her efforts. Emma remembered Mirima's untrustworthy friend. Would telling Danarius her suspicions make Emma the same?

Thankfully, Mirima reverted the conversation back to trivial things and they talked into the afternoon, laughing lightly and exchanging gossip. It was all very pleasant until they set out for the dining hall and a rather _un_pleasant subject arose.

"So, have you and Danarius…" Mirima trailed off, an impish grin stretching her features.

"Kissed?" Emma asked hopefully, knowing full well that it wasn't Mirima's true question. "Yes, we have."

Mirima's mouth widened in smiling surprise. "You mean you made the great and powerful Danarius submit to you without opening your legs?"

"Mirima!" Emma hissed, a dense blush enveloping her skin.

The Archon's daughter held her hands up defensively, "Forgive me! Many of us had believed, ashamedly, myself included, that you had seduced him or something."

"Se_duced_?" Emma whined, gripping her dress as humiliation clenched in her stomach.

"Then how…?"

"He just sort of...took a liking to me!"

Mirima burst into a laughter that stretched the length of their remaining walk.

vVv

Dinner was a quiet affair. Larus was no where to be seen and Emma had an idea of where the healer had chosen to supper for the night. Mirima sat beside Emma and chattered through all five courses. It was very refreshing, to simply talk. Emma hadn't talked so much since Arathea was attacked, the elf providing much of her peer companionship in the house.

Emma dismissed herself when she could eat no more and said her fond goodbyes to Mirima, who insisted that they visit again soon. Emma left the dining hall and the same human, servant boy who had read Danarius's note was there waiting.

"Oh! Hello, again."

The boy cleared his throat in a self-important manner and smoothed his velvet robes. "Master Danarius waits for you in his chamber. He is tired from the day's excursions and insists you make haste."

"I see," Emma replied, valiantly fighting off the word to snort and roll her eyes. "Thank you." Danarius had a talent for the unnecessary and it seemed this boy was his apprentice in the art.

Nevertheless, Emma hurried to his chambers, knowing that it was truly the promise of seeing a certain elf that quickened her strides. She quickly dipped into Danarius's room upon arriving, announcing her presence with a soft _thud _of the closed door.

Her heart faltered in its beating before pumping more rapidly. The trigger for this reaction: Fernis had turned to look at her from his position before hearth. Would she ever grow accustomed to that piercing gaze? The stare that sheathed itself inside her heart and twisted with his every smile, his every blink?

Emma knew she was a mess around him. So unlike the strong, independant women she read of in her books. But... looking at the slow upturn of his lips as he gazed at her from across the room... the way his fingers trailed the length of his arm, swirling with the pale markings; who could judge her for melting into a puddle of stuttering heartbeats and blushing cheeks?

"Emma," Danarius acknowledged her from behind his desk. He motioned for Emma to sit on the couch and she wordlessly obliged. Judging by the curt tone and lack of usual affection, Emma surmised that the magister was not pleased with her.

As if he had heard her thoughts, Danarius confirmed the suspicions.

"I was told by one of my servants that you spent the day with Mirima. _Alone_. As I clearly requested that you refrain from doing."

"Yes, but," Emma realized that she had already prepared an argument since the moment she heard his ridiculous list, "I'm not a child, I can take care of myself. And it's Mirima. I can understand why you would want to prevent my taking tea with Demetri, but his sister is kind and very-"

"This is rather perfect timing," Danarius announced abruptly. "I'm going away for a few days and you've just confirmed that I can't leave you alone for a second." He shuffled a stack of parchment in his hands and heaved a sigh. "I am leaving Fenris with you in my absence. He'll be tasked with making sure you don't die while I am gone." He dipped his quill into an ink bottle, scraping the excess against the glass. "I have no use for him where I am going. Go about your routine, Fenris will simply shadow your steps and ensure your safety." Danarius lifted his eyes from the scattered parchment, expression stern. "This is non-negotiable. I know how you like your privacy, but I can no longer trust you to be alone with Demetri slinking about."

Danarius waited for Emma to reply, to agree to his demands. She stared back at him in a daze for a long moment before granting him a small nod. The magister smiled a bit, as if some weight had been lifted from his shoulders, and returned to his work.

Emma turned slowly to glance at Fenris. Alone with him? For days? In this chamber? In the baths? In the… Emma's heart pounded and threatened to implode inside her chest.

The elf was wearing his features in the same way she supposed hers were arranged.

Stunned disbelief.

Emma jumped as a crashing thunder sounded in the rain.

vVv

_I love you all in ways that would concern you. Deal with it somehow._

_Stay tuned! I'll be updating in 36 hours. _

_Sleep is so needed right now, you don't even...geh._


	30. If I must

vVv

"When are you leaving?"

Emma's voice was tinged with an eagerness she prayed the magister would not detect.

Danarius continued to scratch his quill against sheet after sheet of parchment. "In the morrow," he uttered, words nearly drowned out by the violent rain that beat against the window behind him. Emma took a step forward and strained her ears.

"For how long exactly?"

Danarius opened his lips to respond as the room exploded into howling torrents of air and cracked leaves. They swirled about and disrupted the neat pile of parchment atop Danarius's desk. The magister cursed in Arcanum and leapt forward to still the papers that flew from their perch. He then glared at Fenris, who, reverted back to his grave state, strode to the gaping window. He fought the glass, leaning his weight onto the window as great winds pushed from the other side. Fenris gave a final shove, grunting as his shoulder met the wooden frame, and the room became calm. Water dripped from the ends of his hair as the elf drew away, a scowl across his face.

"Blast this storm," Danarius muttered as he arranged the rain beaten parchment. "And I have to _travel _in that madness. Ugh, the ink's been smudged." He brought a hand to rub at his temples, visibly attempting to cool his blood.

Emma bent forward to collect the stray papers from the carpeted floor and set them atop the desk. Danarius scooped them all into his arms and carried them to the hearth for drying. Sighing heavily, he removed his dampened robes and let them fall to the floor.

"I've been nominated by the people of Tevinter to become the next Archon." Danarius pulled his pale tunic overhead and laid it against the couchtop. "Do you know what that is?"

"A King."

"A King of a sort, yes." He turned abruptly to the direction of the hot spring's door. "Come, we bathe."

Emma flinched and hesitantly followed him, glancing back at Fenris with wary eyes. He was immersed in thought, gaze fixated on his moving feet, having jumped back into a daze.

Once the three were inside, Danarius bent to remove his trousers, bracing a hand against the elf's shoulder. Emma averted her eyes and set to disrobing herself, pulling down the new dress, and stepping out of its folds, along with her smalls. The elf was watching. Her cheeks were burning. _How would they do this alone?_

Danarius waited for Emma, arms outstretched, already chest-deep in the dark waters. He smiled brightly at her as she neared and bent to her knees. His arms wrapped around her waist and he carefully lifted her off the ledge and into the hot water. She gasped at the sudden heat and he laughed, pulling her body up so she could adjust. The hands that held her hugged Emma tighter to Danarius's chest and his face dipped to nuzzle her neck. Emma inclined her head when she heard the gentle splash of Fenris entering the spring. His eyes were focused again and his jaw jumped as he stared at the back of Danarius's head. He didn't like it.

When their eyes met, his anger subsided a little, as if he found something written on her face that reassured him. She passed him a small, uncertain smile and he returned it with a sigh and a slow shake of his head.

If only she had been blessed with the gift of browsing a person's thoughts. It wasn't fair. He could read her like a book and she could only understand him when he used his words. And even then, the message was often unclear. Emma felt as though she was treading in the dark, fingers searching, only guided by the sound of his voice. Distant and rumbling like the thunder that frightened her.

Danarius began kissing up her neck as he walked them to the shallower parts of the spring, arms pressed hard all around her. Emma remained still as his kisses rose to her lips, where he rubbed his puckered mouth upon hers, opening and closing. With wet sounds that made Emma sigh against his lips. What was disinterest and light exasperation, he mistook for bliss. He deepened the kiss and Emma moved her lips with his, vaguely remembering that she had stopped her resistance in order to protect Fenris.

Danarius broke the kiss, breathing a bit heavier, as he rested Emma atop a jutting rock.

"Three other magisters of the Magisterium were also selected," he resumed the earlier conversation, as though it had never been paused. "I must go to Minrathous and campaign for the title." He rolled his eyes as he leaned forward to grab at lathers from the rocky edge. "Wet your hair."

Emma bent forward to dip her head in the water. When she resurfaced, Danarius buried his hands into her hair and began to massage the soap all around.

"I really hate this whole process," he grumbled as his fingers twisted her brown locks. "Pledging our impossible contributions and kissing the feet of every damn member of the Magisterium. Rinse."

Danarius was reaching for his own preferred lather as Emma soaked her hair until the suds stopped swirling into the waters. When she lifted her head, Danarius had lowered his whole soapy body into the black water, only bubbles rising to confirm his existence. Emma glanced at Fenris, who was spreading his own lather across his chest and stomach. When a blush had begun to rise along her neck and her eyes had begun to glaze over, Danarius broke through the surface in an abrupt splash.

He then unceremoniously turned to swim back to the opposite edge of the spring. Emma opened her mouth to begin protesting. Danarius had forgotten to remove her from the rock. She bit her lip and looked at the sharp edge.

"Just push off of it," Fenris instructed, having noticed her uneasiness, and Emma realized they were alone.

"What is he in a hurry for?"

"Put your hands upon the edge and shove."

"I know, I know." Emma pressed her hands against the ledge. Uneven rock lined the wall beneath her legs. One ill measured leap and she would have rows of gashes across her back. "Danarius said you hurt yourself in here." She eyed the black rocks, nervousness creeping into her voice.

"Push hard."

"Okay. Okay. Here I go." Emma shoved against the ledge and squeezed her eyes shut.

_Splash_.

"You're alive."

Emma smiled and pushed the wet hair from her face. "Yes."

Fenris returned her smile with a small smirk as they waded to the far end of the spring. They approached the ledge and Fenris silently grabbed hold of Emma's hips, lifting her from the water and setting her on the edge. When his fingers didn't immediately leave her side, Emma's heart quickened. It wasn't fair, what he did to her. After a long moment had passed of _this_ misery...she reached a hand to his face, hoping to return the touch. He slapped Emma's palm away before it could reach him.

Emma was staring at Fenris, forcing a slight smile to swallow her hurt. She knew that he was only rejecting her for personal reasons, and that he _wanted _to be touched. But it was so hard to remember when he kept avoiding her splayed fingers. She felt the ghosts of his palms burning from where he'd held her.

"Go ahead," he uttered finally, eyes trained on a floating candle.

Emma nodded, carefully removing her legs from the edge and meandering across the slippery floor. She entered Danarius's bedroom chambers and closed the door behind her.

vVv

_ Fenris sighed when he heard the door's gentle thud and waited for the pulsing rolls below his navel to cease. _

_ If he was going to be alone with her for the next several days, he would need to learn more control. Maker strike him if she didn't make it impossible, reaching out to him like that. _

_ Fenris lifted his head to gaze up at the gaping hole of the cavern. Moonlight spilled in and caressed his cheeks. It felt like freedom. Was his master really leaving?_

vVv

Danarius pulled Emma to him from beneath the sheets. She was grateful for the thin gown that he had presented her, made of a lavish silk that En had spun not hours ago. A mastermind seamstress, that one. She wrapped an arm around the magister who had settled against her chest. It felt unnatural, but it would keep him at her side.

"How long?" she asked again, trying to make it sound mournful, as if the thought of him leaving brought her great pain.

"I don't know. Four days. A week? I'll send word when I get there, I should know by then." His arms gave her an affectionate squeeze as he kissed her collarbone. "I'm going to miss you," he murmured softly.

"Mm." She hoped that he would interpret the response as agreement.

Just then, Fenris entered the room and made way for his couch. Emma watched as he lowered himself onto it with a low exhale.

"Fenris," Danarius's voice was muffled against Emma's chest.

The elf stifled a yawn and inclined his head with tired eyes. "Master?"

"If anything happens to my flower while I am gone, you will suffer greatly."

"Yes, Master."

Danarius seemed content with the response and nuzzled against Emma's neck. "The elf's constant presence isn't so bad. You'll grow accustomed."

Emma smiled in the dark, "Really?"

"Yes, I quite like it, actually."

"Hmm, I don't think I will. As you said, I do like my privacy."

"It's only for a week, at the most. I must ask you to bear it."

"If I must."

Fenris smirked at her from across the room.

vVv

When Emma woke in the early morning light, Danarius had already gone. She pushed an arm against her bed to peer at the couch. The elf lay sleeping, face soft and devoid of his usual severity, an arm draped over his head. Emma bit her lip to fight back a giggle of pleasure.

She lay back in bed, too much excitement in her chest for slumber, and planned the entirety of their day inside her head.

_Danarius would have taken the girl with him. He would have taken the girl a million times over, if he could. Blight it, but he didn't. It would be his greatest regret._

vVv

_Update tomorrow!_


	31. Have I not?

vVv

Soft gray beams of light poured into Danarius's-_Emma's _chamber as she lay in bed. The fierce rains had calmed to a heavy drizzle, the pitter patter of rain drops thumping in a soothing melody. The elf stretched in his sleep and bent an arm to lay across his tan stomach, uncovered by the bunching of his tunic. Emma never tired of his face, flinching and sighing with the scenes of a dream. He flicked out a tongue to wet his lips and Emma guessed that his mind was floating to food. Fat cakes, rich creams, thick syrups. She imagined that he was tasting them all, unburdened by his sense of survival. Of growing used to something that could be removed.

Emma was eager to begin their first day together, but Fenris's peaceful features prompted her to let him sleep on. For as long as he wished. Perhaps he was exhausted. Perhaps he hadn't slept fitfully for years.

A quiet knock at the door ripped Emma from the elf's face and she pushed back the sheets to answer it. The gentle rapping hurried Emma's steps. She glanced at Fenris as she passed him, fearing that the noise would rouse him, but the elf remained still. Emma quickly opened the door to accept the visitor. Too late, she realized that she should have woken the elf in case Demetri was beyond the door.

Arathea. Emma stared at the pretty, young woman, who flashed a brilliant grin. She was carrying a heaping platter of food and hot tea that would serve as breakfast.

Emma furrowed her brow, lifting on her toes to peer over Arathea's shoulder. She searched for Demetri-shaped shadows along the halls. "You shouldn't be in this part of the house," she scolded quietly.

"You sound like Larus," Arathea smiled. "He said I should leave upstairs duties to someone else. But I wanted to come see you and I'm sick of the slaves' quarters."

Emma accepted the tray with a quiet thanks and hauled it to the small table at the room's center. When Arathea hesitated in the doorway, Emma quickly gestured for her to enter. The elf seemed to untense a bit as she stepped inside with a shy smile.

Her voice was loud and cheerful. "How goes the morning, Emma-?"

Emma brought a finger to her lips and waved a hand toward the sleeping Fenris.

"Oh," Arathea whispered quickly, eyes widened in surprise. "Sorry."

Emma sat down in a lavish chair before the table, pushing the platter into the table's middle. She pulled out the chair beside her and motioned for Arathea to join. "Come, sit."

Arathea's lips pulled into a small frown of befuddlement as she crossed the room to sit upon the embroidered cushion. "This is different," she murmured, flouncing a bit upon the chair. "My buttocks has never been so pampered."

Emma stifled a laugh and reached for two tea cups and saucers, pouring some of the steaming tea into their hallows. Arathea accepted the tea with pure generosity and pursed her lips around the ceramic. When she drained it completely, she lowered her cup onto its saucer with a pleasant clink. Emma refilled the empty cup as Arathea's eyes wandered to the hearth.

"I've never seen him asleep before," Arathea's smile faded as she stared in wonder. "It's so strange," she said, tilting her head as if seeing it in another angle would make it less so. "And even more strange that Danarius is not beside him."

Emma frowned at this. "Has Danarius never been away before?"

Arathea's eyes were focused on the elf as she replied. Her words were distant and pondering. "Not without Fenris. Not once."

Not once apart? How was that possible? The elf followed Danarius...everywhere? How sore his feet must be. Could she have been the only reason that Fenris was left behind this time? How was Fenris responding to the magister's absence? No, Emma knew.

That it was long overdue.

"_I," Fenris growled, elongating the word and sending shivers down Emma's spine. "Hate. Danarius."_

_ His hand curled around her cheeks and he forced her down-turned face up to meet his blazing eyes. "I want that man dead."_

To be forced beside a man he despised, to trail his every step. How suffocating it must be. Though Emma could not pretend to hate Danarius-not presently-she could imagine how bludgering it would feel. Beaten. In the constant presence of someone so beneath your liking. Stifling.

Emma's gaze settled upon the slow rise and fall of the elf's belly, his hand moving with each inhale.

She promised the elf in silence, stretching her unspoken words to his ear.

Emma promised that she would make these next days worth the wait. Fenris would be happy.

Arathea sighed into her tea cup, pulling Emma from her daze. "It's only been a few hours and I already miss him."

"You miss...Danarius?" Emma questioned with incredulous eyes. "Why-?"

"No, no," Arathea corrected quickly, her voice raising along her protest. Emma pressed a finger to her mouth, glancing at the sleeping elf, and Arathea sheepishly pushed her lips together.

"Sorry," she whispered. "No, I meant _Larus. _I miss Larus."

"He went with Danarius?"

"Yes."

"Oh," Emma plucked a smoked sausage from the spoils, turning it over in her fingers. She noticed Arathea eyeing the plate in an attempted subtle manner. Emma giggled softly and pulled the platter toward the elf. "Please, help yourself. You know that what is mine, is yours."

Arathea grinned and reached for the object of her desire; a fat, juicy strawberry, perched high atop the fruit. She bit into the berry and a string of pink ran down her chin. Arathea laughed quietly around the bite, wiping her neck with the back of her hand.

"So," Emma said, trying to keep her voice casual and not so eager. It was difficult. "How _is _Larus? Did he say goodbye?"

Arathea's cheeks reddened as she chewed the fruit, eyes unable to meet the human's.

Emma dropped the cavalier act and leaned toward the elf, whispering fiercely "Ara, you tell me what happened this instant!"

Arathea swallowed with a wince.

vVv

The elf dropped her wash rag as the door to the master's study burst open. She whirled around, heart jumping against her ribs. Lord Demetri. No.

No, it was _him. _Standing in the doorway. His chest heaved with his great breaths. Had he ran from the guests' quarters, in search of…? Ara wanted to believe it, but the pain of rejection was a fresh wound in her chest. She didn't want it to bleed in front of him. Ara needed to be strong. She was _never _strong. Especially, around him. He made her weak at the knees and weak in the heart. And, as he had told her that horrid evening, weak in the mind.

But, his eyes surged into her with a such a fierceness. He seemed relieved to see her and _panicked. _What had she done? A tendril of fear curled in her belly.

Ara had wondered why her ludicrous confession was left unpunished, even at the hands of her patient, gentle healer. He had left after chiding her angrily, as one would a child, and promised to leave her side so that she could quickly squash her love for him. So far, it hadn't worked. In fact, crying his name into her pillow, staring at the foreign black lines of the books he'd left, recounting their best conversations...remembering the feel of his lips, rough and warm, on hers…it had only made Ara yearn for him more. And now, she was to be punished for it. Larus, kind as he was, could not allow it. If the cruel Demetri had deemed a _spill_ worthy of her death, Larus must believe that at least a beating was appropriate for such disrespect.

"_Ara_," Larus's face was pulled into a grimace as he stood frozen beneath the doorframe, "Why do you look at me that way?" The noble heaved a shaking sigh and pulled the door shut behind him. "This is difficult," he murmured, leaning his weight against a nearby bookcase. "I don't know what to do."

So kind that he was at a loss as to how he must proceed. Ara's eyes began to water and she bit her lip, focusing on the pain to keep the tears from flowing. She must be strong in the heart, mind, and body. She _must_.

Larus pushed from the bookcase and slowly crossed the room.

Ara wondered if the pain would be brought with a spell or fast flesh as she closed her eyes. She was afraid. Of course, she was afraid. Ara was a slave and this was something she had been trained, from a very young age, to expect. Fear. It was a natural reaction, the fear. She felt it constantly around the nobles; a conditioned response. But this was the first time since the night he'd held her broken body, that she felt any fear of him.

There was another thought tugging at her mind. This one, she was ashamed of.

Ara was _happy. _To see him again, to hear his voice again. It had only been two days since she felt the initial sting of his absence, but the ache pulsed ruthlessly in her heart. Now, hearing his soft footsteps draw closer and closer, the pain began to ease. His presence was-

A pair of lips gently pressed against her own and Ara's eyes flew open to find that they belonged to none other than Larus. The blonde noble wrapped two arms around her body and crushed her to his chest, leaving her lips to dip his head into the nook of her neck. A tight embrace. "I don't know what to do about this," he whispered against her skin. "You've broken me."

Ara tensed in his arms. _Broken him? _ "Larus, I-"

"I can't say it. Not yet."

"What?"

"It's too much...those words…," Larus's voice trembled around the utterance, "You must understand, they're..._treason_."

"What words?"

"I'll tell you one day," he promised, bringing a hand to stroke the back of her head. "You can be sure of that. But for now, I _can_ say that I am so sorry." Larus pulled her tighter. "I am sorry. I was being too smart. I need to be more of a fool, don't I?"

Arathea couldn't channel a response. This must be a dream. There is no way…

"Let us resume...this. I beg you."

"Yes," she breathed. "Yes, please."

vVv

Emma was stunned after the story, heart swelling with the happy development. Ara insisted with blushing cheeks that she must return to her duties, despite Emma's protests for her remaining longer, and left the human to her thoughts.

"Absurd. It will not end well."

Emma glanced up to see that the elf had roused from his sleep. His green eyes were open and staring at the ceiling in dull annoyance.

She decided to ignore the fact that he was present for their entire conversation and parried the grim statement, "You can't know that. They are in love."

"Reaching happiness requires more than love."

The words stung her somehow. Emma furrowed her brow at the pain and rose from her seat. She crossed the room and knelt before the laying elf, placing a hand against the cushion. He turned his head to face her and white locks dripped languidly into his eyes.

"Then, you have not felt love," she murmured.

The elf smiled softly. Sadly.

"Have I not?"

vVv

_Expect a long chapter tomorrow! _

_Sneak preview...wait for it...wait for it...two words...ready?_

_Drunk. Fenris._


	32. Everything

vVv

Emma's tongue was dry. She scraped it against the roof of her mouth.

_"Have I not?"_

Was he accusing Emma of loving him? Or was he confessing his own feelings toward her?

The elf's lips were still pulled in that sad, heart wrenching smile, a hand lifting to idly stroke the lines of his arms.

"Fenris," Emma whispered, following the path of his fingers with her eyes. The hand that clutched the cushion beside him tingled with a want to reach out. To follow the white roads with her own fingers, to travel them up his his chest and neck. To his lips, where they ended. Was he hinting at something?

Or... was she being foolish and reading into his every twitch like a teen-aged girl? Perhaps he was just mocking her, perplexed by Emma's accusation.

"Are you hungry?" she asked, pulled herself onto her feet. Her knees were quaking and she quickly crossed the room before he could notice. She lifted a dripping honey roll from the food platter and smiled as she waved it enticingly.

The elf snorted and sat up on the cushion, resting his head on the couch's back. "I don't eat in the mornings," he said.

Emma's smile faded and she glanced at the roll, sticky on her fingers. "Never?" she pondered. "But the others…"

"I don't breakfast with the others."

It was true, she had never seen him in his corner during the mornings. But Emma had never thought… surely he had eaten more than one serving of bread and cheese before her arrival.

When Emma studied his features from across the room, remembered the day she first looked upon that face, he looked healthier. His cheeks had been much more hallow, his bones, much sharper. The skin had pulled more tightly around his face. It had made him look colder, more intimidating. Even now, his features were pronounced and striking, but they were also softer. Gentler. Warmer. Emma felt a pang in her chest. To think that Danarius could be so passive as to starve a man, slave or no.

"Well, now you do," Emma spoke quietly, though with authority. She lifted the roll again.

The elf's emerald eyes seemed full of longing as they passed over the roll, but he quickly squashed the feeling and replaced it with disinterest. He turned his head to the hearth, gray and empty of its flames.

"Something to be taken away."

Emma slammed her clenched fist against the table, and the elf slowly turned back to her face.

"Come and eat this bloody thing before I force it down your throat."

She bit her bottom lip to stop its trembling.

The elf's face changed. His jaw jumped. He did not like this.

Emma realized she was giving him orders. And that he was now obligated, as she was his temporary Mistress, to obey them.

"No," she sighed, lowering the bread back onto the platter, "I'm sorry. Eat if it pleases you."

Fenris's features softened a little and he lazily pushed himself off of the couch, bare feet meeting the fur rug. He swayed into a casual step and stopped just before the wooden table. Emma frowned as he picked up the honey roll and closed his mouth around its lumpy edge.

"Fenris," Emma protested, reaching a hand to his arm. She flinched when her fingers met his arm and he didn't pull away. Immediately, that is. When her palm touched the tan flesh, he gently removed it from her grasp. "If it doesn't please you-" Emma hurriedly continued.

The elf swallowed the bite and picked at a new piece. "It pleases me if it pleases you," he replied before popping the chunk into his mouth. He smiled a little as he chewed. Honey glistened on his lips and Emma imagined it would taste very good...

She grabbed a handful of green grapes and shoved them into her mouth. The elf eyed her curiously as she began shoveling more food past her lips.

"I thought you wanted me to eat," he chuckled. "If this continues, there will be nothing left."

Emma blushed and sat in a dining chair, wincing as she swallowed a bite. She stifled a cough so the elf wouldn't chide her for eating like a mabari.

"Do you lack teeth?" Fenris scolded, despite her vain attempts. "Shall I chew your food for you?"

Emma scowled and pulled a fig from the heap.

_They ate in a comfortable silence as rain pelted the window and trickled down its glass. So simple that words were not needed. So needed that they each exhaled in relief. Sighs of utter contentment. _

vVv

The drops of rain grew in size during their meal. By the time they leaned back in their chairs, entirely full, the water had begun to pour in buckets from the above. Emma watched the brooding gray skies and prayed that thunder would not add into the mix.

"You don't like the rain?" Fenris inquired. Emma's face had contorted in distaste when she glared up at the dark clouds. She smoothed her features, pulling her gaze to the elf's. He was lifting himself from his chair.

"I do," Emma answered, following suit. "Sometimes."

The elf strode to his armor, that sat on the stone step of the hearth. Emma frowned as he bent to pick up the steel chest piece. "You don't need to wear your armor. Danarius isn't here."

"I am guarding you. I will "suffer greatly" if anything happens, remember?"

Emma stepped to Danarius's wardrobe and pulled open its oaken doors. Just as Danarius had promised, several dresses hung beside his robes; En's additions to Emma's collection. Though En was nearing the completion of Emma's wardrobe and set to leave, Danarius had taken a liking to her craftwork. She was now assigned with the task of making Emma's wedding dress.

Emma pulled a deep green dress from its hanger and laid it out on the bed. It was a beautiful gown, with billowing skirts and swirling strings of gold embroidered into the bodice. She glanced at the elf, whose back was turned to the bedroom door. Emma didn't understand why the thought of Fenris seeing her half-naked should warm her cheeks when he had seen it all up close.

But she _did _understand why watching the elf pull his thin tunic overhead made her heart race. He was so beautiful. The pale markings wound across his back, disappearing into his underthings. The muscles of his back moved as he lowered his arms and dropped the thin cloth to the floor. Emma quickly returned her eyes to the dress before Fenris could turn to find her gawking.

She tucked both arms inside her nightgown and pushed it down her body.

vVv

_The elf turned to retrieve his grafted hide and paused, his fingers closed around the leather. _

_Emma was pushing her gown past her hips. She braced a hand against the bed as she pulled it down the rest of the way. Golden legs lifted up out of the dress opening. One foot caught in the collar and she bent over the bed. She squirmed, reaching a hand to yank the fabric past her foot, her arse swaying in the air. Fenris turned round, slipping the hide onto his shoulders and latching it closed. Maker, she had to have done that on purpose. There was no way she could be so obliviously alluring._

vVv

Emma blushed at her own clumsiness and pushed herself off of the bed. She looked to see if the elf had witnessed her display and was relieved to find him still turned away, pulling leather greaves up his legs.

"I don't see why you bother," Emma teased as she shoved her arms through the velvet dress, "You've not displayed very good guarding abilities." She buried her head into the fabric's opening and pulled it down. "Might as well be comfortable." When her head was through, she found the elf staring at her with a strange expression.

"What?" he more demanded than asked.

Emma smiled at his reaction. "Demetri overcame you quite easily, didn't he? Oh, don't look at me like that, I'm only teasing."

"I could have killed Demetri," Fenris said the words slowly, as if it took Emma great effort to understand them. "I chose not to because he is the Archon's son and I value my life."

"Oh, yes," Emma couldn't help the giggle that escaped her lips. She had struck a sensitive spot. Apparently, the elf did not enjoy his strength to be demeaned.

Emma did not believe him weak. The proof of the contrary was written on his muscled body. But he didn't need to know that. Not while she was having so much fun. "I'm certain that it was entirely your wisdom that led him to knocking you unconscious."

The elf glowered as he wrenched his sword from its position against the wall and fastened it to his back. "Come," he snapped, stepping hard to the door and pulling it open. Emma valiantly quelled a wave of laughter and strolled into the hall.

vVv

"What are we doing here?"

They were standing in the ballroom and thirty feet apart. Emma looked down at her bare feet, curling toes against the marble floor. She had a feeling the elf had not brought her here to dance. She glanced up at the beautiful room, once again admiring the stained glass windows. The colorful shards of glass were dim around the gray light that struck them, but they still cast enchanting beams along the creamy stone.

The elf bent an arm over his head, wrapping a hand around the hilt of his sword. He lifted it up over his back and the massive blade stretched between them. Emma jolted and took a step back as he shoved it to the ground. It slid to her feet, the steel scraping echoing throughout the room

She furrowed her brow in confusion. The elf was wearing a faint smirk, his hand pointed to the fallen blade.

"Meet Lethendralis."

Emma lowered her gaze to the greatsword before rolling her eyes and dipping into a curtsy. "Pleased to make your acquaintance, ser."

"Now," Fenris's smirk widened, "pick it up."

She stared at the sword with a frown. It was longer than her body. Emma didn't like the challenge in his words, the doubt. It can't be _that _heavy. She arched to retrieve it from the marble floor, fingers closing around the hilt.

Emma gave a hard pull and gasped. It barely slid against the floor. She tried again. It scraped loudly along the marble, but it did not raise a fraction. Emma glared at the sword, reaching a second hand to clasp its hilt. She pulled as hard as she could and bent at the knees. With a crippling amount of effort, Emma groaned and lifted the top half of it off the floor. An entire foot's distance. Her arms burned as she held it there, puffing breath like a chimney.

Emma grunted and the sword clattered back to the floor.

"How?" she gasped, straightening her aching back. "_How_-...do you carry that around all day?"

The elf was chuckling.

"I'm strong," he explained with a smug grin and a lift of his shoulders.

Emma, still breathing a bit heavy, snorted and smoothed her skirts. "It takes more than strength to be a skilled fighter."

Fenris's eyes twinkled with amusement. "Oh? And what do you know of fighting?"

"A fair amount," she crossed her arms over her chest.

"May I see this knowledge in action?"

Emma smiled and tugged pointedly at her dress. "It would not be a fair fight. This dress is very limiting for movement."

"I will be easy on you."

The elf seemed thoroughly entertained by the idea of sparring and it made Emma want to grant him his wish. And, to be honest, it had been a great deal of time since her last wrangle. She and Carver had been teaching themselves how to handle metal back in Fereldon. Emma had developed more of a liking to daggers, for they were light and easier to manipulate in her hands. When they weren't fighting with pointy objects, Emma and her brother used their fists. Though it wasn't her favorite pastime, a good duel could serve as a pleasant release of tension.

"Fine," Emma assented, "I will educate you."

Fenris laughed and the sound made Emma grin. It was like claps of thunder. But this boom, she liked very much.

She stopped laughing when he charged at her. Hadn't he said he was going to go easy?

Fenris lunged and reached a hand out to wrap around her arm. Emma darted out of the way, squealing in excited surprise. The elf kicked out his leg to trap her retreating foot and Emma quickly leapt to avoid it, pushing two hands off of his shoulders. Emma lurched forward to loop an arm around his shin and pull it out from under him, but the elf twisted his body out of the way with a laugh.

Emma leaned away as the elf swung his arm toward her and it swept just beyond her nose. She took advantage of the force he had put behind the shove, knowing his momentum would be briefly compromised. Emma stepped around his body and shoved her full weight onto his back. The elf's laughter ended abruptly as he focused on absorbing his fall. In one lithe movement, Fenris braced his hands against the marble and shoved hard, preventing himself from collapsing completely. His body twisted as he curled a foot around Emma's ankle and pulled it forward. She gasped and twisted out of his hold, struggling to keep balance. The damage was done, however. In a final attempt to best him, Emma stepped so that she would fall flush against his back. Perhaps it would knock the wind from his lungs and give her the upper hand.

Fenris wrenched himself back around and reached two arms out, hands bunching around Emma's dress. He pulled her to him and she grunted as her body slammed against his.

They lay against the floor. The elf's breathing was even but Emma was positively panting. Carver was much easier to spar with. She pressed a hand against Fenris's plated chest and pushed herself up to grin at him. _That was fun. _

Her smile faded as she realized just how close they were, faces only inches apart. The elf was staring at her mouth in a way that made Emma's stomach clench. She closed her eyes. He was going to kiss her.

vVv

_She closed her eyes. He was going to kiss her._

_He imagined Danarius's smile as he closed his fingers around the elf's throat. _

vVv

Emma blinked when Fenris placed two hands on her arms and gently pushed her to the marble. It was cold.

The sting was there and it hurt. How long was he going to keep pushing her away?

_What was the equivalent to an embrace for Fenris? What did he want the most in a companion? Emma recalled her earlier realization..._someone he could deny freely_...and peeled apart her dry lips._

"_You can always push me away," she whispered softly, "Always."_

Would it really be always? Emma dragged her hand against the smooth stone, watching the glinting shards disappear beneath her flesh.

"What do you want to do now?" she sighed, eyes flitting up to the elf's profile.

He was staring up at the mirrored ceiling, gazing at their reflection. Just as Emma had done

when she first saw Fenris.

"What do _I _want to do?" Fenris echoed dazedly, lips pulling down at the corners. "What a strange thing for a slave to hear." They laid there in the empty ballroom for several minutes, occupied by their own thoughts.

Finally, Fenris turned his head to the human, that same excited twinkle in his eyes.

"Everything."

vVv

Fenris and Emma spent the day doing all sorts of insignificant, earth shattering things. The first thing Fenris wanted to do was listen to Emma read the rest of _Akin to a Beast_. She thought it strange and flattering that he preferred to be read to. They curled up before the library's fire and finished the book, Danarius be damned. Fenris was smiling broadly by the end, everything having resolved itself into a pretty bow. The werewolf killed his creator and moved on to a life with his new companion, the beautiful woman who challenged him.

After the book was finished, Fenris led them outside and into the gardens. The rain had calmed to a light drizzle and they spent an hour walking in the pleasant shower, Emma supplying most of the conversation. She told the elf of Fereldon, her brother and sister, and everything, really. The elf listened with a sincerity that made the words fall faster past her lips. When she began to shiver against the cold, Fenris dragged her back inside.

They visited Fenris's closer companions in the house. Tarma, Arathea, Thanron. Each marveled at the elf's removal from Danarius's side. Emma smiled at his relaxed shoulders, his more frequent smiles, and his eagerness to seize the day.

They suppered with the elves that evening, falling back into their familiar corner.

As soon as Emma pushed a last bite of mutton inside her mouth, Fenris grabbed her by the wrist and pulled her out of the kitchens. He dragged her down the hall and toward a small door at its end. Fenris pulled it open and ducked inside.

"Wait here," he ordered from the other end.

Emma arched a brow as she heard a large amount of glass clinks from inside the room. After a short minute, Fenris re-emerged with two bottles of wine. He wore an impish grin that made Emma giggle. Fenris's face darkened at his own enthusiasm and he hurried down the hall, towing the wine.

"I thought it might be interesting," he explained.

"Yes," Emma agreed with a smile, "Interesting."

vVv

Fenris knelt before the crackling hearth and sat back on his arse with a grunt. He used a clawed finger to remove the cork from one bottle's mouth. Emma shuffled on her knees to retrieve a pair of glasses from the couch's end table. When she returned, the elf had already tipped the bottle into his mouth.

He lowered the bottle and extended his arm out to take her glass, swiftly pouring a generous amount of wine into its hollow.

Emma brought the glass to her lips and tilted rich redness into her mouth. It was sweet and silky on her tongue. The same wine that she had tasted the night Danarius invited her to drink.

Emma brought the glass to her eyes, peering at the dark, red liquid. "What is this?"

"Aggreggio Pavari," Fenris spoke into the bottle before lifting it back to his lips.

"It's delicious."

Fenris lowered the wine and nodded once in agreement.

"Sinfully."

vVv

Emma's head was beginning to swim. She set her glass down on the hearth's stone, giggling for no reason in particular. It was a pleasant feeling, like a thick blanket over her mind, warm and fuzzy.

"Right," the elf glared at Emma in fierce concentration, "what was I saying?"

"You were saying," she wracked her brain, "you were saying…"

Fenris shrugged and took another swig from the bottle. They were down to the bottom of the second one, the elf having consumed a great deal more than her.

"I like wine," he said abruptly with a frown.

"And me," Emma grinned, laying back on her elbows. "Do you sing?"

Fenris blinked at the question. "Do I sing?"

"Yes," Emma nodded one too many times at this and felt a bit like the room was turning upside down. "You have a best voice-the best voice."

"Of course, I bloody sing, Emma, I am…I am..." he paused, scouring his mind for the most suitable word, "I am Fenris."

"A perfect explanation," Emma laughed. "Sing something."

"Right," Fenris lifted himself on his feet and nearly fell over. He braced a hand against the couch to steady himself. "Got up too fast," he muttered with severity.

Emma doubled over in laughter. "Do you need to stand to sing?"

"No," Fenris pushed off the couch and stumbled to Danarius's desk. A lute rested against the back wall. Emma shook her head in disbelief.

"You'll play that lute _and_ sing?"

"I will," Fenris called a bit louder than what was needed, perhaps not realizing his distance, and bent to collect the instrument in his arms.

He staggered back to the hearth and plopped down beside Emma with a sigh.

"Here you go," he said, holding the lute out to her.

Emma laughed and pushed it back to him, "No, _you _were going to play."

"No, I will," he said quickly, adjusting his arms around it. "You can have a go later, Emma."

"Oh, right," Emma could scarcely breathe, she was laughing so hard.

The elf took a deep breath and cleared his throat. His fingers began to strum.

Emma quickly sobered as an enchanting melody filled the room. The lute's sound was beautiful and heart wrenchingly sad, reaching fingers inside her chest and squeezing. She inhaled when the elf parted his lips and began to sing.

"_Do,_" he glanced up at her as his fingers lazily passed over the strings, _"you feel what I do? Tired of everything." _Fenris held his eyes on hers and Emma leaned forward to catch every word that fell from his lips. _"Can...you feel what I can? Almost everything." _His green eyes searched hers as he sang, strumming absently as if it was second nature. Emma felt as though the elf was bearing himself to her. His words were not just a song. They were _for_ her. _"I want to leave today. The sky is big and my life is small. I want to leave with you...so we can build a perfect garden."_

He hummed a pleasant tune along with his strumming. If felt like a caress against her skin. Tears collected at her eyes and slipped down her cheeks. She lowered her gaze to the floor and wiped them away, not wanting them to obscure her vision. When Emma lifted her head up, she found that the elf was crying, too. A single tear slid down his cheek as he sang the words, a soft smile on his lips.

"_The stars are far away, I can see them with my eyes. I watch them burn away, like the moments of my life."_

vVv

_Fun fact: this is the song that inspired my story. Thank you, song._

_If you're curious, and because I don't want to commit plagiarism:_

_Vast - Desert Garden (acoustic version)_

_I like it because his voice is gritty and imperfect, just like I'd imagine Fenris's singing voice to be._

_ANYWAYS...the next chapter will pick up exactly where this one leaves off...so, now I get to say:_

_To be continued._

_That felt good._


	33. Nother time, Emma

**So, NEW COVER!**

_Sorry for the potential confusion except I'm _not_ because lookhowgooditlooks! My boyfriend and I spent like two hours on it. Ugh. Ugh. I mean, _look_ at it. Mngh._  
_  
The reviews? So appreciated. So motivating. So bad for my sleep, cuz it makes me wanna write 'till 3:45 in the morning._

vVv

The elf strummed a final chord and the sound echoed into silence. He leaned his weight back against the hearth wall and sighed, reaching for the wine. The liquid sloshed against glass as he waved it to and fro, examining its fullness. There was enough for about two more glasses. Emma surmised that it was more than he should drink, if the swaying of his body was any indication.

When Fenris began to lift the bottle back to his lips, Emma reached a hand out to close around its end. The elf glared at her down the length of the glass.

"Perhaps," Emma hinted gently, "perhaps we should stop drinking for one night?" Her words were slurred and she had consumed nearly a fourth of what the elf managed. 'Managed' may not have been the suitable word. 'Survived'.

Fenris shook his head, snatching the bottle away, and nearly fell over. How was he able to play the lute so beautifully? He could hardly keep upright. Bracing a hand against the hearth steps, Fenris downed the equivalent of another glass of wine.

This _was_ going to be interesting, just as the elf had said.

"D'you think," Fenris began to say, frowning at the open palm that lay in his lap, "d'you think it'll rain again tomorrow?"

Emma nodded a little and turned to stare at the blackness outside. It was too dark to see the rain, but she could hear it pouring thickly against the window. "Shows no signs of letting up just yet."

When she returned her eyes back to the elf, she found him gazing at her with a strange expression.

vVv

"_You're beautiful," he stated simply. He had kept pushing back the urge to say it all night. The wine loosened his lips, released his fears. Danarius could go to the darkest corners of hell. Emma was beautiful. _

_She seemed taken aback. Why? She must have known it to be so. _

_He wanted to touch her. His thoughts were a jumbled mess inside his head. The moment he was able to grasp a solid idea, it slipped from his fingers and he was left scrambling for a new one. His mind jumped from cream cakes, to Emma, to rain, to Danarius, to Emma, to Emma._

_He smiled at the blush that crept up her neck. It was a familiar reaction. She often flushed when he was near. It made him feel powerful in a strange way. He almost told her that, before realizing how strange and creepy it sounded._

_ "Thank you," she answered, glancing at everything her eyes could reach, apart from his face. He loved to watch her squirm underneath his gaze. So often it was the opposite for him. He submitted to his master and often avoided his cold stare. It was liberating to watch Emma yield herself to him. _

_ He wanted to touch her. He couldn't. He knew he couldn't. The wine was telling him otherwise. "It's really quite easy," it said in its smooth voice. "Just reach a hand out. Yes, like that. Now, let it gently rest against her cheek. That's it."_

_ Fenris frowned. The skin of Emma's cheek felt hot. He pulled his hand away, heart thumping wildly in his chest._

_ Maker._

vVv

Emma gasped as Fenris lunged forward to grab hold of her arms. She fell back against the fur rug, pinned by the elf, his nose nearly touching hers. A tight frown twitched upon his lips as he stared at her gaping mouth.

"M'sorry," he rumbled and spilled breaths of mint wine on her face.

Emma gazed up at him with round eyes, parting her suddenly dry lips, "It's alright."

"Beautiful."

She blushed at the repeated compliment, distorted as it was. "Thank you." The elf was swaying slightly on the arms that trembled beneath his weight.

"Danarius would…," he lowered his head so that his lips brushed hers as he spoke, "drain th' blood from m'veins if he…f'we…"

She leaned up to kiss him, imploring his eyes and clenching a hand at his wrist. Fenris drew his face away before her lips could close around his.

"Emma," he sighed, lowering his head to her shoulder, "Not being fair. M'drunk, can't think straight."

He stared at her a long moment before grudgingly crawling off of her. He climbed onto the couch and collapsed into its cushion. Stretching his long body across the patterned upholstery, Fenris folded his arms over his chest and closed his eyes.

Emma laid there beside the couch. The room span, but not unpleasantly so.

Fenris's voice joined the quiet symphony of raindrops and crackling flames. "What're you doing?"

She glanced up to see the elf glaring at her. It was a gentle sort of scolding.

"I want to sleep beside you."

"No, you go'ver there."

"I don't want to."

Fenris sighed impatiently. "A slave can't sleep on'a couch while his lady's on the floor. You go to th' bed."

"A slave also cannot command his lady."

He scowled and clambered off the couch, landing on his hands and knees with a grunt. Emma puffed out a short laugh before slapping a hand against her mouth. The elf did not need further provocation. Fenris, wearing a comically grave expression, crawled behind Emma and began to pull her up to her knees. His hands were clumsy, but still carrying strength and able to manipulate her limbs to his will. Emma could only hiss her protest as he lifted her off the ground and into his arms. The world span, bookshelves and table tops twirling in a dance.

She was unceremoniously dropped against the bed, sinking heavily into their cushion. Pushing a hand off the mattress for much needed momentum, the elf turned to retreat back to his couch. Emma quickly leaned forward to grab his arm, fingers closing around hard flesh. Fenris glared at her hand and swayed on his heels, reaching clawed fingers to remove hers. She tightened her hold and stared up at him in defiance.

He sighed and lifted a palm to rub at his closed eyes.

"Emma," he said in a long exhale. Weary frustration. "What?"

She repeated her earlier statement, frowning at his reaction to her touch. Exasperation? It stung like a needle prick.

"I want to sleep beside you," her eyes left the elf's to gaze at their meeting flesh. "If it is improper for me to sleep on the floor, then," she glanced back at him and a blush crawled up her cheeks, "you sleep here."

The elf's blurry eyes widened at her obscure command, succeeding in appearing both angry and amused. "Is that not n'even more improper 'ternative?"

"No," Emma said quietly. "I don't think so. This way, the lady is content, which _is _proper."

The elf's stare softened at the words.

"Hmmph."

"I won't touch you," Emma promised hurriedly, hand loosening around his arm, "I just want…"

"T'sleep beside me," the elf finished in a sigh.

He stared down at the hand touching his for a long time, until Emma felt inhibited to remove it. She waited, resting on her heels, as Fenris weighed the situation in his drunken mind. His tongue rolled about in his mouth while he considered the arrangement, as if it was the idea itself turning over.

Without further regard, Fenris crawled atop the bed and pulled back the sheets. Emma watched as he settled himself beneath them, burrowing in their warmth. She glanced down at herself and back at him, a slow smile forming at her lips.

"Will you wear that spiky armor to sleep?"

The elf's eyes flashed open and he glared up at the bed's canopy.

"_Fasta vass,_" he growled, throwing back the sheets.

Fenris leapt off the mattress and undid the latches of his hide in a drunken speed that was only made possible by the routineness of it. He quickly shrugged out of the leather and let it fall at his feet. Emma's glanced away in embarrassment when his tan back came into view. Though, shamelessly soon after, her gaze readily returned to the white markings that scoped his skin, swirling down his arms and beneath his leather greaves.

Emma began to remove her dress as the elf bent to pull at his legwear. She thought better of it, knowing that he would not appreciate her lack of clothing. Not while he was seeking this sodding platonic friendship of his. She unbunched the dress and fell back onto the mattress just as Fenris gave his greaves a final yank.

He crawled atop the bed on hands and knees, pulling back the sheets and slipping inside. Emma frowned when the elf turned on his side and faced away from her.

"Fenris."

"Mm."

Emma didn't have anything to say, but wanted to hear the elf's voice. She scrambled for a topic while staring at his back. Her eyes swept the beautiful, pale markings once more.

"You said your markings hurt," she began, recalling their intense discussion outside the kitchens. He had said that tracing his markings calmed him, because they caused pain. "Why?"

"They're lyrium."

"Lyrium?" Emma's brow furrowed as she attempted to process it.

Lyrium was a rare mineral used to craft the most powerful of runes and magical weapons. It was known that even the slightest contact with Lyrium could cause irreparable psychological and physical damage. And if a poor soul was misfortunate enough to survive the mineral's horrors, it would be left inside an empty, broken shell. "That's not possible," Emma whispered. "That would kill you."

"It felt like it did."

"Fenris," she sat up and pulled at the elf's arm for him to face her. He granted Emma's wish and rolled over with a sigh. "How-..._how_?"

"I 'dunno how. Just is. I underwent a ceremony that put these in me and I lived. End of story."

"No," Emma shook her head slowly, "the beginning. Tell me."

"'Nother time, Emma," the elf rolled back around. "M'too tired."

Emma stared at the white hair of his head, at his shoulders, rising and falling into a thick slumber. The silence stretched and Emma continued to stare. When his markings glowed...the lyrium was awakening? How could he be…? Why would he be…?

Questions by the hundreds filled Emma's mind as she laid back against the mattress, still gazing at the elf in dumbfoundedness.

She was sore of the mystery. Everything about Fenris raised countless inquiries. Answered questions gave way to ten more unsolved. From his strangely hopeful song to his branded flesh, Emma could not begin to comprehend..._him_.

Who was Fenris?

"_The stars are far away, I can see them with my eyes. I watch them burn away, like the moments of my life."_

The moments of his life, burnt away? Gone? Did he mean his life was lost? Was that his slave sentence or...a nagging feeling told Emma that it was something entirely different. Something that burned away. The moments of his life…like memories.

She closed her eyes against the throbbing that began behind her temples.

Who was Fenris?

_Did _he_ even know?_

Emma's mind closed around the elf's song, strange and beautiful words echoing. Distant. As if she were submerged in thick waters and the sound reached her from above.

"_I want to leave today. The sky is big and my life is small. I want to leave with you...so we can build..."_

_...a perfect garden._

vVv


	34. I can't

vVv

_Fenris blinked. His head swam in the thick pools of wine, invitingly warm… but, for the life of him, the elf could not fall asleep. The thick fog would begin to swirl about his vision, limbs numbing upon the soft mattress. And then, just as the hushed promises of sleep whispered in his ear, a sweet sound would break through the haze._

"_Mm."_

_Fenris would feel the brush of fingers on his back and a sighing breath against his skin. Emma was an active sleeper. She reached her arms out and thrust her legs this way and that. Every now and then, she would release a soft, sleeping hum that rattled his bones. Fenris clenched and unclenched his fists, his jaw, his eyes, as if that might let go of the tension that built inside his stomach. A slow and gentle ache. Painful pleasure that pulsed between his legs. _

_He wanted to turn around and do...something. Anything. A soft caress, a faint nudge. The elf had adopted the habit of touching Emma's face in her sleep. Tracing the beautiful features that twisted around a smile, a laugh, a puzzled frown. _

_Fenris feared he could not steal such a touch in the silence. His master's presence did not loom over his consciousness. Especially, not with so much wine flooding it. No, Fenris knew that if he were to press the slightest touch upon her skin, he would lose himself to pent desires that now haunted his sleep. _

_So, instead, Fenris listened to the gentling rains and the popping embers. He gradually calmed himself with deep breathing, his heart pumping hard, but not near as fast. His body's ache became quieted and he was able to summon the fogs again. They collected into his mind and set his muscles to tingling. He felt light and empty. Ready to be rid of this trying evening._

"_Fen…mm."_

_And then, Emma would go and do bloody _that... _and the battle would begin anew. _

_Needless to say, it was a long night. _

vVv

A sonorous crack of thunder pummeled the walls, startling Emma from her slumber. She gripped the sheets and sat up in bed, staring into the darkness of the room with wide eyes. Howling winds whipped finger-like branches along the window panes and shook their frames. Emma shivered, pulling the sheets closer to her body.

A more quiet thunder sounded to the left and her shoulders relaxed as she stared at its source.

Fenris was rumbling unintelligible words in his sleep. His jaw jumped around the low utterings as he ground his teeth. Emma leaned low, pushing hair behind her ear in an attempt to unravel the jumbled words, and realized he was speaking Arcanum.

"...nestus... anamo..."

She watched his lips form the foreign words. His uncensored mind, dreaming freely and taking him to places he cannot visit. His unchained mind. Emma wanted to reach inside him and see it.

That song…the words burned like a hot iron to her mind. They were an embrace, those words. Emma was certain. The elf was admitting his desire to be free. To be free with _her_. With a growing ache in her chest, she stared at his moving lips. He frequently flicked out a tongue to wet them.

What was holding him back? Danarius? Danarius was not here. She was not _supposed _to be with him. Was she to refrain from any kind of happiness whilst in the castle? Emma wanted to touch the elf, to feel the lips that entranced her with their speech. To taste the thunder from his lips.

Fenris said the magister would drain the blood from his veins if they embraced. The hypocrisy of the idea filled her with anger. Did not Danarius touch the elf?

Emma slowly uncurled her fingers from the sheets and let them fall upon Fenris's cheek. It was soft and warm beneath her touch. His mumbling quieted, his lips pulling into a slight frown as Emma drew a finger down the bridge of his nose. Her heart quickened and her breaths became shallow. Such a simple touch hurled her into the weakened state. She drew her hand away.

He was a compact sleeper, arms and legs close to his body. One arm was folded overhead and the other was strewn across his bare stomach. The sheets were bunched about his hips, as though he had been kicking them throughout the night. Emma bit her lip uncomfortably hard and felt a surging need through her veins.

Emma's eyes drifted to the hard muscles of his abdomen, defined even in a relaxed state. The swirling lyrium seemed to frame the tan skin, only adding to the elf's beauty. The markings, horrifying as they may have been for him to obtain, were an enchanting sight to behold. They seemed to glow in the heavy darkness.

Always watching him trace those pale lines. Always wishing she could do the same. Even after learning of the pain they brought him, Emma still yearned to travel the roads with her fingertips.

"...ma…"

The elf's voice returned, gravelly and faint. She leaned in and turned an ear toward his mouth.

"...Em…"

When his lips formed the next syllable, parting to finish her name, Emma caught the sound in her mouth. She kissed him. Her lips brushed his with a softness so as not to rouse him. It was like a chain around her heart had been broken. A small loosening of a tight strain. Some much needed relief. Emma sighed against his mouth in complete bliss. The elf's lips were warm and pleasantly moist from his wetting them. Though they didn't move against hers, Emma's heart hammered in her chest as if he were ravaging her mouth. It was absurd, her unrelenting desire for him.

The moment she drew away, she felt a new burden. Groaning softly, Emma fell back into the sheets and laid her arms across her eyes. The bliss she had felt, the relief, was only present while she was touching him. Separated from his skin, the feeling was now stronger than before she had started. Emma wrestled the sheets around her body to restrain herself from touching him further.

vVv

_The elf glowered up at the bed's canopy. His lips burned where they had met hers. Every muscle in his body tensed as he restrained himself from touching her. He clenched his fists until his fingers ached. _

vVv

Emma slowly walked along the towering shelves of Danarius's library. The way his books were sorted both intrigued and infuriated her. Each book, be it a history on the mining of Viridium rock or a tragic tale of lovers, was crammed randomly into its oaken home. This made finding books of Emma's interest a difficult, yet fun task. Much like sorting through a cliff of stone to find the jewels inside it.

She could just imagine Danarius lugging in four new additions to his collection. A book of sonnets, a comedic playwright, a dark thriller, and a guide on meditation. He would stuff three books wherever he could find an opening before settling into soft cushions with the fourth.

Emma's fingers closed around a dark green spine and slid it from its perch. She opened the cover and quickly scanned the first page to measure its worthiness. The words jumped out at her and forced a surprised laugh from her lips.

"_I can't breathe. There's an enormous man pressing a hot blade to my thigh and calling me 'Elia.' His breath smells good, my leg is burning, and my name is Marcus."_

Emma immediately desired to learn what brought poor Marcus to his interesting predicament and closed the book with a decided slap. Fenris was gazing at her curiously from the couch.

Emma crossed the great room and curled up on the cushion next to his with a contented sigh.

"What is funny?"

She grabbed her mint tea from the end table and brought it to pursed lips, pulling a noisy sip from its depths.

"This," Emma plopped the blue book into the elf's lap with her free hand, "it is called _Elia_. This is the one we will read."

Fenris carefully opened the book, as if afraid that his armored hands might damage it, and stared at the first page. Emma watched, smiling in anticipation of the laugh he would shortly release. When none came, she frowned in disappointment.

"Well," she palmed the warm mug, "_I _thought it was funny. It is so random."

"Mm," the elf continued to study the page and Emma felt a bit embarrassed by his lack of amusement. Perhaps, he wasn't one for comedies. A different book, then. She reached out to reclaim it, and Fenris leaned away, nose buried deep into the parchment. Ah, perhaps he _was _interested.

"I should like to know what happens, as well," Emma smirked as she collapsed back against the couch's arm. She was struck with a very pleasant idea and curled her toes in contained excitement. "Would you mind reading this one? I think your voice would add to the entertainment." She imagined the elf's grave face reading jokes in likeness of reporting foul deaths and giggled. "Please?"

The elf closed the book and pushed it back into her lap. "No," he murmured, staring at its scaly cover.

"Oh, Fenris," she grinned, nudging his thigh with her foot. "Don't be shy. I read an entire story to _you_. It's only fair."

He firmly shook his head and focused his eyes on the rain that spattered the colossal window. The storm had strengthened since the previous night, blowing debris and torrents of water all about. It was a complete mess. Emma had already acknowledged, with large distaste, that it would most likely give way to more thunder, later on.

"Fenris, please?"

He lifted his eyes to hers and heaved a tired sigh. A blush painted his cheeks as he spoke the quiet words:

"I can't."

"Yes, you can!" Emma laughed, giving him another nudge. "Don't be so bashful!"

"No," Fenris's blush deepened as he stared hard at her, eyes full of meaning, "I can't."

Emma's smile slowly fell from her cheeks and was replaced with a redness to match his.

"You mean you...can't?"

The elf looked away, voice bitter. "That is what I said, yes."

"Oh," Emma spoke softly. "I'm sorry."

"Emma," he sighed, running a hand through his hair, "Don't apolo-...slaves are not taught to read. Reading builds knowledge, which is something an intelligent slave owner would want to prevent in their slaves."

"I could teach you," Emma blurted.

The elf's brow furrowed into a startled glare as he turned to face her.

"You want to learn, don't you?" Emma sat up and leaned closer, eyes filling with excitement. "A smart man like you must be starving for the ability."

Fenris opened his mouth to reply before clamping it shut, still frowning heavily.

"Come on, it could be fun."

"Danarius would not be pleased to learn of this. As I explained-"

"We can be sneaky about it," Emma dismissed the idea with a wave of her hand. "And until then, he doesn't return for another several days."

The elf's stare flitted to her lips, flicking a tongue out to wet his own. "Yes, but if he _did_…discover..."

The hidden second meaning was not lost on Emma.

"To hell with him," she murmured around a warm smile. "I'll take the fall, if worst come to worst."

Anger surged hot behind his eyes.

"Absolutely not-"

"Fenris," Emma placed a hand on his, stroking the skin with her thumb, "he can't rob you of every happiness."

The elf glanced down at their meeting flesh, fingers reaching to remove her hand before letting them fall upon the cushion. She smiled at his acceptance to her touch, hesitant as it was.

"Yes," Fenris murmured softly, lifting his gaze to hers. "Yes, he can."

Her smile fell.

"Only if you allow him to."

"'Allow him'?" Fenris chuckled darkly. "You have yet to meet your groom."

vVv


	35. Tada!

_Hey, you! Sorry it's been a whole week. I'm graduating high school next Friday and things are starting to get crazy. I work, you know. Making sandwiches. I've also met some very distracting people. Anyways, I'll have much more time to write next week, since we get out early for finals. And then summer break begins next Friday and I'll have LOADSA time. I'm excited! I have big plans for this story._

_Well, enjoy!  
_

vVv

Fenris raised a brow as Emma stretched her legs out across the couch and rested two feet upon his lap. She grinned and cleared her throat several times, opening the book's cover with an extravagant flick of her wrist. The elf snorted in spite of himself.

Emma forced her face into seriousness. "Fenris, are you ready to laugh?"

He leaned over to clutch his hot cocoa, drawing a long gulp of the sweetness with closed eyes. Before arriving at Danarius's library for their reading, Emma had stopped by the kitchens to prepare herself a mint tea.

vVv

_Emma fished a few mint leaves from the bottom of the glass jar. "Nothing is better than a hot drink in raining weather," she chirped, dipping them in the bubbling water of her mug. That sinfully pleasant scent wafted from its depths, eliciting a sigh from her lips. _

_Emma turned to the elf at her side with smile._

"_Have you ever tasted hot cocoa?"_

"_Hot cocoa…?"_

"_Yes," Emma answered, smile broadening, "Would you like one?"_

_Fenris narrowed his eyes. _

"_It's _sweet_," Emma taunted._

_He flinched. _

_ Emma laughed as she re-opened the spice cabinet. "That is a 'yes'." She plucked the ingredients from their home, humming an old Ferelden tune. _

"_Now," Emma grabbed a second mug, "Ground cocoa beans." She dipped a fat, wooden spoon into another jar and dropped a heap of cocoa into the mug. Dancing about the kitchen for this and that, Emma named each ingredient in a sing-song voice, "Half boiling water, half milk, a spoonful of sugar, a dash of salt. And," She thoroughly stirred the contents of the mug before holding it out to him with a long, _

"_Tada!"_

_The elf accepted the drink and brought it to his nose, sniffing away like a curious mabari. "It smells like you," he murmured quietly into the mug._

_Emma blushed at the observation and turned away to clear the countertop. Just as her hands wrapped around the sugar, Fenris let out a long, throaty moan and it fell from her hands. She glared at the millions of grains of white before turning the angry stare to him. _

"_Apologies," Fenris smiled a bit sheepishly, "I didn't mean to startle you. It's simply that this is the best thing I have ever tasted."_

_She turned back around to hide her pleased grin. _

"_Better than sweet rolls?" Emma asked as she scooped up the salvageable sugar. _

"_Far better."_

_A long silence as Emma finished cleaning up the ingredients._

"_Emma?" Fenris sounded a bit timid, igniting her curiosity. Timid was not one of the elf's demeanors. She spun to find him holding out his mug, an apologetic frown on his face. _

"_Another?" she smiled, accepting the mug. Emma had just finished clearing things away...but that face made her wrench open the cabinet faster than she could blink._

"_I am in your debt."_

_Emma leaned her elbows against the counter as she waited for the water to boil. _

"_Oh? I can ask any favor, then?"_

_The elf's eyes instantly filled with regret as he noticed her impish grin. _

"_Ehm...yes?" He sounded more than a little unsure of the idea._

"_Good to know."_

"_Be kind to me."_

vVv

Fenris rested his mug back onto the end table with a satisfied sigh.

"I am ready."

Emma smiled and began to read _Elia_.

To her pleasant surprise, they required several long pauses to ride the waves of hysterics that washed over them. Fenris's laughter evolved as the story went on, morphing from uncomfortable coughing, to snorting, to chuckles, to a booming laugh that cracked as loud as the thunder outside. Emma could listen to the sound, endlessly. She doubled over in laughs, simply through hearing to his. The two became so giddy with their reading, that minor jokes would hurl them into fits of wheezing. To see the elf's face cracked open in a broad smile, clutching his sides, fighting for breath; it made Emma feel full of warmth.

The book was not so long, and they read into the afternoon, when it ended. Emma closed the book with a shaky _phew _and laid her head against the couch cushion, still smiling.

"I fear that every organ in my body has burst," she sighed.

Fenris grimaced in agreement, massaging the cheeks that had carried his smiles. "Laughter is quite strenuous."

Emma nodded in agreement before opening her jaws into a great yawn, thus prompting the elf to do the same.

They sat in a comfortable silence, eyes locking and unlocking. Glances that caused Emma's heart to stutter without fail, no matter how brief.

After several minutes had passed, Fenris cleared his throat and broke the calm.

"I _will _fall asleep if this goes on much longer."

Emma smiled softly, forcing her drooping eyes to remain open.

"Would you care to join me for a fight again?"

Her lids snapped wide, suddenly devoid of their heavy burden.

"I would very much care to fight you."

vVv

"No, Emma," Fenris grunted, swinging a leg out to block hers.

She cried out as her shin met his, hard and solid against her own. Recovering quickly, Emma lunged for the arm that reached out to keep his balance. The elf side-stepped and used the leverage in putting force behind his counterstrike. Though he swung with all his might, Fenris stopped his arm just before it reached Emma's body so that she suffered no more than a hard nudge.

"I don't see-" she panted, "I can't reach-" Emma darted behind the elf and waited for him to whirl around, before shoving her clenched fist at his side. He caught her hand in his and pulled her close, mimicking the same punch with his hand. Again, it was only a nudge.

"You are too predictable."

Fenris leaned away from her hand as it swung just passed his nose.

"You might as well be voicing your next move before you make it."

Emma huffed and sank low to the ground, throwing out a leg to hook around the elf's. He merely stepped over the limb with a smile.

She collapsed against the marble, positively panting.

"But you are a fast learner," he granted, "You are better at responding to my defenses than last time." Emma grinned at the compliment.

"Thank you," She groaned softly as she pulled herself up into a stand. "I still can't see what you'll do...you move much too fast."

Fenris half smiled, a touch of pride coloring his cheeks and warming Emma's insides. A man being praised in something he values. The simple pleasure suited Fenris very well.

"I would disagree."

The cold drawl sounded across the ballroom floor where a tall man, decked in lavish cream robes, leaned against a marble column. Emma scowled at the Archon's son until the elf moved to stand before her, broad shoulders engulfing the view.

"Anaa men danal, muvanium."

Emma frowned at the words Fenris spoke and wondered at their meaning. The way he said them, voice tight and near a growl, made Emma believe them to be a warning.

Confirming her speculation, Demetri raised his hands in a gesture of peace. "I was just passing through." His voice was low and oozing, like the mud that traps your feet. "And I heard strange noises...as if people were either fighting or fucking. I had to investigate."

"You have found your answer," Emma replied coolly as she nudged past the elf in order to be seen. "Now you may leave."

Demetri snorted with narrowed eyes that roamed her body.

"I humbly thank you for permission to leave," the Archon's son bent forward into a deep, condescending bow, eyes flitting up to hers. "But I will stay," he smiled and straightened his back. His lazy stare switched from the human to the elf and back again. He jutted his chin toward the ballroom's center and folded his arms across his chest. "Well?" Demetri raised a hand, waving it forward. "Go on."

Emma lifted a quizzical brow. "You want to watch us fight?"

"I do."

She glanced questioningly at Fenris, who simply nodded once and turned to the ballroom's center. Emma followed with hesitant steps.

They stood a small distance apart, and Emma crouched into her fighting stance. The elf hunched a bit and separated his feet, a familiar glint in his eye.

"What do we-?" Emma began to whisper when the elf sprung forward. He grabbed her by the arm, clutching a hand at her waist, and pushed her forward. Emma's arm burned as he twisted it behind her back.

She cried out at the pain and curled her leg around his, pulling it forward in desperation to escape his hold. The elf's foot did not move a fraction. She threw back her head and it collided with his armored plate, only sending stars through her own vision. Not a good idea, at all. Emma then thrust her hips back, arse colliding with crotch. The elf hissed and loosened his hold, giving Emma a chance to break free. She twisted her body around and threw a hand to his stomach and gasped in surprise when it met the leather hide.

"I'm sorry," Emma panted as the elf grunted against the punch.

He shook his head, eyes glaring in their intensity, and lunged again. Emma evaded it this time and spun to send a kick at his retreating back. Again, he collected the kick in its fullness and staggered a few steps before turning to spring anew.

Emma twirled out of his searching hands and dropped low to swipe a leg beneath his. He stepped out of the way and and drew his leg back. She squealed and rolled out of his kick and onto her feet.

Fenris straightened his back abruptly, dropping both hands to his sides, and turned to stare at the Archon's son.

He was gazing with a furrowed brow, his mouth slightly agape. The arms that had been crossed were now limp. Emma glanced between the pair as they shared a long silence.

Finally, Demetri let out a barking laugh.

"Are you serious?" He leaned back against the column and gripped his robes into a fist, shaking with the torrents of snickers. "You can't-" Demetri doubled over and wheezed, "_can't _be _seri_-_ah-" _He gripped a hand against the marble to keep his knees from giving out. "That was _dreadful_!"

Emma blinked, her brow furrowing in both confusion and offense.

"I'm only just learning to fight properly," she spoke defensively.

"Not _you_," Demetri son laughed, raising a finger to point at the elf beside her, "_him. He's _Danarius's most trusted guard? You have to be kidding."

Emma stared as he released a few more long laughs, until he was finally able to push off the marble and exit the ballroom. She turned to Fenris as soon as the doors slammed closed.

Her eyes searched the elf's face. "What was that about?"

"It is better for our enemies to underestimate us. He is a fool to think that I would display my greatest efforts before him. And show him what to expect in a battle with me- what is that face?" The elf smiled at the childish pout that had settled about Emma's mouth.

"I thought I was doing well," she grumbled, looking away as warmth flooded her cheeks. "And you weren't even trying."

Fenris let out a startled chuckle that was cut short by her fierce glare.

"Apologies," he said quickly, "but you can't expect- I have quite a bit more experience, I-" Fenris slowly smiled again and shook his head. "You were doing well."

"Yes, yes," Emma waved away the flimsy compliment. "I should like to see what you're _really _capable of someday."

Fenris's eyes lost their twinkle as his face became shrouded in solemnness. Emma stared up at him and an eerie feeling crept into her heart. His mouth was sad, turned down at the corners.

"I pray you will never witness such a thing."

vVv

_Fenris eyed the fountain's edge as he reached a hand over his shoulder to close around Lethendralis. He pulled the great blade from his back and set it along the cool stone before sitting beside it with a contented sigh. _

_A gentle mist kissed the back of his neck as the long stream of water struck the rest below. The night air was perfectly warm, with a cool breeze shaking the flowers that bloomed all about. Shades of every color danced around him and quivered, dripping the rain that had soaked them through. The great clouds had parted enough to reveal the sunset sky of startling oranges. The moon was already round and yellow as butter, and faintly seen just over the castle's peak. That pleasant earthy smell indicated that the rain would return, and Fenris was not displeased. He quite enjoyed the rain. _

_He didn't like it as much when it soaked through Emma's dress on their midday walks. How it made the fabric cling to her curves in that sinfully provocative way. Or... did he like it very much? It was hard to say. _

_Fenris leaned his head back to watch dark silhouettes moving past the tall windows, slaves and guests alike. He could easily tell them apart, without seeing their faces. The scurrying ones; those were slaves. The confident strollers were the guests. Ah, there went Demetri, prowling across the guest's corridor like a cat in tall grass. Fenris scowled. _

_What was taking her so long? Why did she make him wait outside, in the gardens?_

"_Fenris?" _

_A familiar voice neared the elf from behind. It was Thanron, the cattlemaster and a closer friend of his. A small elf, around Emma's size, with a voice bigger than his body. It was rough and blunt as splintered wood, a strange contrast to his boyish face._

"_What're you doin' out here?" the raven haired elf smiled in his curiosity. He raised a hand to scratch at his unruly hair, letting out a short chuckle. "'Lemme tell you again," Thanron dropped onto the stone seat with a grunt, glancing side-ways at the elf, "how strange 'n great it is to see you without 'im." _

"_I still can't grasp the concept..." Fenris murmured, eyes returning to the windows. They drifted to his master's chamber window, "...of him not being here. It feels like... I don't know."_

"_Like a part of you is missing?" Thanron offered._

"_More like," Fenris struggled to find the words, drawing idle circles into the stone with his finger, "I've found the part of me that has been missing."_

_The two were quiet for a long time as they each reveled in the bittersweetness of it._

"_I hope it isn't lost again...even after he returns."_

"_Mm."_

"_So," Thanron exhaled as he stretched out his long legs, "What're you doin'? Where's Emma?"_

"_She's inside. Against my better judgement, I let her talk me into waiting out here. I should be inside, guarding her, but she was insistent."_

"_Hmmph."_

"_I know," Fenris quickly spoke, detecting his friend's disapproval, "but I can't seem to say 'no' to her. More and more so."_

_When Thanron said nothing, Fenris turned to gage his features. The elf's dark brown eyes were apologetic and... reproachful. Fenris frowned as his friend shifted uncomfortably on the hands that supported his weight. _

"_Well?" Fenris urged, a bit of impatience creeping into his voice. "What is it?"_

_Thanron sighed and untensed his shoulders. "It's no good, Fen."_

_The elf felt his heart quicken as uneasiness settled like a thick sludge inside his ribs. _

"_What is?" he asked, in spite of knowing._

"_You 'n Emma. What you're doin'."_

"_How do you mean?" Fenris urged and leaned forward to catch every word._

_Had the others picked up on something? Even when he was being so careful. He never touched her in front of anyone. Never held her, never kissed her. Fenris knew what the consequences would be if Danarius found out about his growing feelings, so he had done everything in his power to quell them. Extinguish the fire that had begun to rage inside his chest. _

_When nothing could put the flames out... and they only grew, spreading to places he had never once thought could ignite, he gave up. Let the fire burn him. But he would not act upon his feelings, lest they evolve into something beyond his meager control._

_If the others could see it... then the man he spent every waking moment with was sure to notice. His heart began to hammer hard against the walls of his chest._

"_How do you mean?" he said again._

"_Gettin' used to 'the good life'," Thanron spoke sadly. "A break from the master is one thing. Enjoy _that. _But don't get swept away in his absence. The wine, the books, the...fun. Goin' back to the way things are'll become that much harder."_

_Thanron didn't see. Fenris allowed himself one long blink, as the relief pulsed through his veins. He feelings were not so detectable. He was doing well, all things considered. Fenris slowly leaned away, muscles loosening as his heart returned to a healthy beat._

"_This will quite possibly be my only time away from him," he said quietly. "I will enjoy it. It will make it _easier, _the rest of my existence. To have these memories to look back on."_

_Thanron thought for a long moment before nodding his understanding. _

"_Yes, I s'pose you're right," he smiled softly, reaching a hand to pat Fenris on the back. His face quickly grew serious again. And a bit angry. _

"_What d'ya think of that healer mage?"_

_Fenris frowned in surprise. "Larus?" _

"_Yes, the tall, blonde one."_

"_Larus has," Fenris stared at his friend's features as they hardened, "been of great help to us. I suppose I...tolerate him."_

_Thanron was glaring at his feet, his voice tight. "I thought so, too," he muttered. "And not just 'tolerated', I _liked _'im. He saved Ara," Thanron's face softened as he remembered the rescue. Larus remaining by her side all through that first night, to be sure that she was okay. "But," the elf spoke softly, fresh anger slowly re-marking his voice, "now I-...I don't like 'im one bit."_

_Fenris raised a brow._

"_I saw 'em kissing in the halls... before going into her room."_

_ Fenris's second brow joined the first. "Ah."_

_ "I've always...I mean, _you _know," Thanron's pale face colored to match the deep pink hues of the sky, "been soft on Ara."_

_ "Have you?" Fenris half-smiled._

_ "Yes," Thanron glowered at him, "as you very well know."_

_ Oh, Fenris knew. In fact, everyone did. Except for the woman of whom his affections were aimed at. The shy elf could never muster the courage to voice his feelings, afraid that rejection would harm their close relationship. As a slave, without the ability to be over 200 feet away from the house, failed romances were thickly awkward. For all. _

"_He's no good," Thanron continued. "I mean, he's _human. _He's rich as pudding. He's not for her."_

"_She seems to thinks so," Fenris sighed, shaking his head in disapproval._

"_He's only going to hurt 'er. Even if," Thanron glanced up at the pink clouds, "even if he means well. He'll end up leaving and she'll be sad. Or someone'll find out- the _wrong '_sorta person-..." The elf leaned over, resting elbows on knees, and dropped his dark head into his hands. _

_Fenris didn't know what to say. He agreed with his friend, entirely. But saying so would only add to his torment. Instead, he returned the earlier pat on the back with a sigh._

_Thanron stood abruptly, wiping at tired eyes with his palms. _

"_I 'gotta go eat. See 'ya later."_

"_Bye, Thanron. Hey."_

_The solemn elf turned around with slumping shoulders. He greatly resembled a kicked dog._

"_In your obsession with Ara, you failed to notice that another person has had their eye on you for quite some time."_

_Thanron's eyes widened, pink cheeks paling as fear struck his features._

"_Not me," Fenris snapped and gained the smaller elf's lost color. "Someone else. And just like Ara, you are too much of an airhead to see it."_

"_Who?" Thanron asked dazedly. _

"_I will not say. You must figure it out on your own."_

_Fenris winced at the glint of interest behind his friend's eyes, already regretting the decision to tell him._

_The secret admirer was none other than Imroddon. A very attractive, very _male _elf five years Thanron's senior. If the dense boy ever found out about Imroddon's feelings, it would be very awkward. Thanron liked women very much and despised the idea of two men being together. He found Danarius's attention toward men, as well as women, very disturbing and wrong. Why did Fenris spill that useless information?_

_Thanron was eyeing the castle in wonderment. "Who could it be?" _

"_Like I said, I'm not-"_

"_Well, I have to go," Thanron chirped. It was unnerving, how quickly his spirits had changed. He turned toward the castle, shoulders no longer hunched and a bit of lightness in his step. "Oh, hi, Emma!"_

"_Hello, Thanron!"_

_Fenris turned his head to see her standing there and his heart nearly leapt from his chest. He took a staggering breath as he beheld her._

_She was like an angel, sent down from the Maker's kingdom to drag him down to hell where he belonged. Her dark hair flowed in sweeping curls that settled about her breasts. Her lips were pink and her eyes were darkened in a way that he didn't understand, but very much liked. _

_A dress of thin silk, white as the stars in the sky, clung to her body. The gentle fabric drooped at her arms, sat loosely at her shoulders, and held tight around everything else. It exaggerated her delicate curves. The smooth arch of her hips, the length of her legs, the roundness of her breasts; it was overwhelming. _

"_Over there, please," Emma lifted an olive hand to point ahead. "In the middle of the garden."_

_It was only then that Fenris noticed the three elves behind her, each carrying a wealth of food and ornaments. Imraddon himself was among them, carrying a round wooden table in one arm, a chair in the other. _

_Imraddon was a large man with a broad back and note-worthy physique. A fine specimen of an elf. His bright, golden hair was always an interesting thing to behold, a more rare color for their kind. The short locks remained neat atop his head, due to how often he ran his fingers through them. His pale gray eyes glanced at Thanron, who had lingered to watch the scene in curiousity. _

"_What's all this?" he asked Imraddon. _

_The blonde elf grunted as he shifted the objects in his grip, taking steps toward the garden's center. _

"_What does it look like, boy? Are your eyes simply for decoration?"_

_Fenris winced. Perhaps Thanron would never uncover the truth, if Imraddon kept his cold front around the younger elf._

"_Don't be smart," Thanron snapped, following close behind. "Need any help?"_

"_Yes, take this," Imraddon answered as he turned abruptly to toss the chair in his direction._

"_Ah-_hey!"

_Fenris stood and hurried to Emma's side. He stared at her with raised brows as the elves set up a table for two. A candle was placed in the table's middle, burning its orange light. Two heaping plates were lowered to the wood with care, and Fenris's mouth immediately began to water. One plate was clearly meant for him, filled on all sides with steaming meat dumplings, sweet rolls of many kinds, and rich cheeses. Finally, a large bottle of Aggregio Pavari, not yet opened, was sat in the company of two glasses._

_For the second time that day, Emma cried "Tada!" with an opening of her arms._

_Maker...damn it all. _

_He loved her._

vVv


	36. I'm here

_A guest asked me a question and I couldn't reply in pm, so excuse me while I answer._

_Of _course_ I'm gonna buy Inquisition, are you kidding me?! I. Am so. Excited. And thank you for the encouragement! Thanks to _all_ for the encouragement. You guys are just real great. _

vVv

Emma blushed when the elf's eyes continuously roamed every detail of her, as if he needed to burn the shadows and colors into his memory. His face carried the strangest of expressions for such observation. Where Emma had expected a smile, there was instead a frown. Not of the concentrated sort, but of the sad.

She stared in confusion as he humorlessly chuckled to himself. He shook his head with a glare and ran two hands down his face, shifting uncomfortably on his feet.

"What is it? Emma asked, voice cautious. She glanced from him to the four elves that watched the scene. "Does this displease you-?"

"No," Fenris said quickly, turning to wave away the spectators. Imraddon flashed an impish grin as Fenris glowered at him and jutted his chin toward the castle. When the four elves took their leave, he swerved around to face her with a sigh. His eyes searched hers as he spoke, "No, I am grateful. This is…," his gaze drifted to the well stocked plates, the flickering candle, the wine, "nice."

Emma clamped a hand against her mouth as a snort of laughter escaped.

"Don't be so stiff, Fenris," she giggled underneath her fingers. "This was really quite meant to be relaxing."

Fenris released a long breath, face cracking into a smile. The layers of discomfort seemed to melt away at the edges and Emma was confident that they would continue to do so as the night pushed forth.

She stepped forward to pull his chair out, gesturing for him to sit with a wide grin. The elf snorted and mimicked her hands with his own. Emma's smile broadened as she lowered onto the seat. The elf took his place across the table, eyes flitting about and growing in anticipation.

Emma grabbed her knife and immediately began to carve away at a slab of lamb, knowing that Fenris would only begin eating thereafter.

Despite her intentions not to, Emma watched the elf take bite after bite. His faces were so full of bliss, eyes closing in pleasure and fluttering open to select his next conquest.

"You look happiest when you eat," Emma spoke softly, running a finger along the rim of her wine glass.

"So I've been told," Fenris smirked.

Emma blushed, having forgotten she had said the same thing to him last week, when the guests had first arrived. Was it really only a week ago? She looked up at the stars, watched them shimmer. So much has happened these last several days. Her relationship with Fenris had become tangible. If it had been a smoke that clouded her mind, it was now a torch that burned her skin.

"Are you ready to pay your debt, Fenris?"

He arched a brow in surprise and rested his utensils against the ceramic.

"Ah, yes," the elf responded with narrowing eyes, words lifting in question.

Smiling all the while, Emma scooted back her chair and rose to stand before him. He stared in amused confusion as he pushed back his own chair.

"Dance with me," she commanded gently, bending to collect the hand that gripped the table. "Just like before." Fenris frowned at the touch, but nevertheless allowed Emma to guide him to a small arch in the garden. Cream and rouge flowers poked out from the fat, green shrubs that framed the scene. Golden lanterns hung from low tree branches, illuminating the ground they stepped on.

"There is no music," Fenris pointed out. Emma curled her fingers into his and bent her head up to smile at him, to watch his emerald eyes flicker like the gems they were.

"There is," she mumbled, placing a hand on his shoulder. "The wind, the garden chimes, the rustling leaves, the insects' cry." Their heart beats, like drums to step against.

Fenris smiled and cupped a hand to her waist.

"So it is."

They danced beneath the stars. Fenris led them with unaffected skill, to the extent that it smoothed over Emma's awkward steps. Unlike their previous dance, Fenris met her gaze and held it. Caressed it. Also unlike their previous dance, Fenris held her with firm hands, gripping her fingers and waist like he would never release them.

He slowed their movements as thunder began to roll in the distance, staring down at her with narrowed eyes. Emma watched him chew on a thought, tongue poking against the inside wall of his cheek.

"What is it?" she asked.

"Mm?" Fenris's eyes focused on her face as he roused from his pondering, "Oh," he murmured as he slowly swayed them back and forth. "I was just thinking." His head tilted back to assess the thickening clouds, the sun long set beneath the hills. "It's going to rain soon, we should go inside."

"What were you thinking about?"

"Nothing of importance."

"Tell me," Emma demanded with a smile.

The elf smirked and cocked his head. "I believe my debt has been paid. I needn't tell you a thing."

"Fenris," Emma whined, before realizing how childish she sounded. The blushing human cleared her throat and untangled their hands. "Well, fine, then. Let's go inside."

vVv

_He had been thinking of how beautiful and sad it was to be holding her. Dancing beneath the stars, not a care in the world. How perfect and devoid of his master. She made him feel so alive and chainless. Like the world was his to reach out and grasp, as it was in her books. _

_How long before it ended?_

vVv

Fenris paused inside the cave entrance to the baths.

"I do not think this wise."

"Why not?"

"Danarius is not here…" his eyes wandered to Emma before resolutely fixating on the stone wall.

"So? All the better!"

He shook his head once. Firm.

"No."

Emma sighed and carefully inched to the spring's edge. "I can't just wait for him to come back, Fenris. It's already been two days. I need to bathe."

The elf's eyes were pleading. "You don't need to bathe."

"Fenris, don't be ridiculous. I do not wish to repeat the 'you smell of death' incident. I can bathe alone, as well."

"Oh? What if you flay yourself against the rocks?"

"What if," Emma laughed, hands bunching at her dress. "If you're so worried, join me."

"Emma…" Fenris watched the dress rise up sunkissed legs, "At the very least, let me go collect Arathea or…" His voice trailed off when her cream smalls came into view. Emma pulled the dress over her head and let it drop to her feet.

"She is sleeping. Let her acquire what little rest she can." Emma's fingers curled beneath the thin fabric of her bra, ready to lift it away. She paused at the elf's expression of pure anger.

"Since when did you become so bold?" he hissed.

Emma's hands fell away in surprise. "You said that it's pointless to be embarrassed, when you've see-"

"I know bloody well what I said," he sighed, tangling fingers in his white hair. He angrily shook at the locks before turning to leave the cave. "Just hurry up."

"Isn't it too dangerous for me to bathe alone?" Emma inquired with an impish grin. "Mustn't you join me?"

Fenris inclined his head, eyes drifting down the length of her body.

"That would be far more dangerous."

vVv

Emma glanced up from her book as Fenris entered the room. Her breath caught and she turned to glance at anything else in the world while her heart returned to a normal beat.

The elf was naked but for his smalls, hair dripping wet and golden skin flushed. He shuffled to stand before the fire and shook out his dampened locks. Emma watched from the couch where she sat, open book forgotten in her lap. With his back turned, she was free to admire. His body was perfectly muscled, with just the right intensity. The muscles moved as he bent to retrieve the tunic that had been set out to dry after a cleaning. Emma followed the elegant, lyrium roads of his back before they disappeared behind thin cloth. She sighed.

A knock at the door.

Fenris held out a hand for Emma to remain seated before crossing the room to answer it. Only the hand that held the door could be seen when he opened it.

"State your business, boy."

"Ah, well-" It was the messenger boy's voice, the one that had been carrying out Danarius's small tasks. His voice sounded a bit excited, like the elf's presence unnerved him."Let's see...where did I put it? Erm..."

"Quickly."

"A letter from Danarius! Ah, here it is."

"Goodnight."

"Good-"

Fenris pushed the door closed and Emma saw the letter in his hand. The elf opened it with slow fingers and stared at its ink markings for a long moment.

Emma frowned when he crossed the room and placed the yellow parchment into her hands.

"I don't like it," Fenris murmured, a crease of unease forming between his brows. "The other is not his handwriting. And it shakes. Something is wrong."

Emma turned her attention to the pages, eyes quickly scanning each line.

_My flower,_

_I sent your family a letter the week before I announced our engagement at the ball, so that they might reply before we wed. Knowing that they would most likely be unable to attend, I had wanted you to at least have their personal blessing. _

_I have received their letter. Forgive me for opening its contents, but I had to be certain of its legitimacy before sending it your way. _

_I am so sorry, Emma. I know not what to say._

_I return the next eve of your receiving this._

_Danarius_

Emma was holding her breath. With trembling fingers, she shifted the papers and began to read her family's reply.

_Dearest Emma,_

_We are so pleased that you have found joy in such an unpleasant circumstance. You always do. It makes your sacrifice a little less painful to reflect upon. We send our blessings and pray that you are happy._

_Forgive me, your mother, for this awful transition. If only we could be there with you to say this._

_Two weeks ago, Papa was made tranquil by a Templar. We know not the details of the Templar's justifications, though we believe them to be none of worth. _

"What is it?"

_If I didn't have Bethany to think of, I would take to the Chantry with this horrendous act. But I fear that she would be discovered as an unlicensed mage and given the same fate._

"What has happened…? You look..."

_Your father has left us to join the Templar's efforts, so I must change our location, lest he expose your sister. I will send word when we are settled._

"Emma..."

_I am sorry, love. _

The letter was wrenched from her hands and she was pulled into a damp warmth. Emma was vaguely aware that she was crying, but the thought that pressed itself like a hammer to her brain, pounding away at the flesh, was...

vVv

"_They killed Papa...Papa...they killed Papa."_

_Fenris cupped the girl's tear stained cheeks, pushing the hair from her eyes so he could see them. As if his answers might be written in the amber. She coughed and sputtered the same broken phrase over and over. It chilled the elf through to the bone, where it cut like a knife._

_Fenris ached to see her like this. In a way he never felt. Before Emma, his senses were sharp, in the single swing of his master's hand. Organized pain. Now, they seemed a scrambled mess inside his head, blending into one mass feeling of unmistakable love. Disorganized pain. It hurt, it ached, it pulsed, it prodded. _

"_What can I do?" he begged quietly. He wanted so much to help her, but could not even begin to guess how. "Emma, what can I do?"_

_He closed his arms around the girl's body and pulled her tight against his chest. What else could he possibly do? If only he knew! _

"_No," she moaned into his tunic, "Papa. No, they...killed..."_

"_Emma," Fenris rested his cheek against her hair and whispered her name, praying that she would return at the sound. They sat before the hearth, the elf rocking them gently as thunder began to shake the house._

vVv

Emma slowly opened her eyes and squinted at the harsh light that immediately filled them. It was a fire and its warmth licked at the salty wetness upon her cheeks. She watched the flames move as they always did, flickering and whispering. That hadn't changed.

But something as familiar as the flame's dance _had_.

"Papa," she whispered.

A thunder clapped hard and she flinched, a small whimper escaping her lips. That feeling of loneliness the loud noise elicited had never been so strong. She wanted to crawl inside herself and escape it completely.

Emma felt a gentle squeeze around her body, a small sigh against her hair.

She finally noticed the warmth against her back and cast her eyes down to find tan arms wrapped around her stomach. A second pair of legs stretched outside hers and a thunder clapped. She flinched. Fenris's voice was close to her ear, whispering her name and a thunder clapped. And a thunder clapped.

"Fenris," Emma breathed, "I'm scared. The thuh…" A loud, abrupt roar rattled the glass panes. "-the thunder," her voice cracked as tears filled her eyes anew.

"Listen to me. I am here."

She felt his voice vibrate against her back, felt his arms tighten around her. For just a moment, Emma felt like she could breathe again. And then the sorrow claimed her…a thunder clap…

"You are not alone."

Without thinking, she turned over in his arms and buried her nose in his neck, inhaling the minty scent. Sobs wracked her body. But they were different. They were necessary. Fenris brought a hand to stroke her back, speaking softly into her ear.

"I'm here, Emma."

She wept and moaned and listened to the elf's comforts. The words she needed to hear.

"_I'm here, Emma," Neta cooed. "Don't cry, pretty one." _

"_N-neta! I'm lost!" Emma wailed, burying her nose into the elf's chest. "I'm lost!"_

"_No," Neta pulled the small human up to plant a soft kiss upon her cheek. "You're found."_

"I'm here," he hushed her. "I've got you."

"Fenris," she whispered against his skin. "Don't leave me."

"I won't."

"Please."

Emma felt her body being tugged at, felt the ground leave her legs and the sway of movement. Then, softness and warmth as she was laid upon the mattress. Sheets rustled as the elf pulled them up her body and settled into them, himself. He swiftly collected Emma into his arms again, pulling her body close. The heat of his skin soaked through hers and warmed the coldness inside. Fenris gently stroked her back, resting his chin against the top of her head.

Emma heaved a shaky sigh into his chest and cried. It was more soft and forgiving.

It was goodbye.

vVv


	37. Now, I am ready

vVv

_Papa stood in the doorway, his pack loaded with potions to sell at market._

"_I want to go _with _you, Papa. I want to _go_!"_

_Papa tousled her wild, brown locks. "It's a long road I must travel. Not like any of the other times."_

"_How far?" Emma pouted as she pulled his hand from her head, twisting at the big fingers. "Just how much?"_

_He stood tall and stretched his arms out wide. Emma gasped._

"That _much?"_

"_Yes," Papa chuckled as he bent at the knee. He collected her into a tight hug, the kind that stole her breath. The very best kind. "But no matter how far away I am, my love is as close as your heart. Always."_

vVv

"Always," Emma whispered as her eyes fluttered open. "I love you, too, Papa."

Fenris mumbled incoherently in his sleep, nuzzling her neck as he tightened his arm across her stomach.

Sighing at the warm touch, Emma returned to sleep. Sad and in peace.

vVv

A dreadful sound pulled Thanron from his dreams. It was a good one, too, the dream. A really, really good one. It involved Ara feeding him vanilla pudding from her finger, giggling as the elf rolled his tongue around its tip.

Imraddon shoved his shoulder. "Wake _up_, boy!"

Thanron groaned and buried his face into the thin pillow, folding it over his head. He was desperate to return to the dream.

"Everyone is already finished with breakfast."

"Mnuuuugh..."

Imraddon threw back the sheets with an angry exhale. The smaller elf turned to object and found a pair of stormy eyes glaring down at him. Imraddon's arms were crossed and his face was hard. He looked like Thanron's mother. So much, in fact, that he felt compelled to return to the safety of his pillow. And did so.

"Must we do this every _single _morning?"

"No," Tharon's voice was muffled in the pillow. "W'really don't have to."

He had forgotten that nowhere was safe when Imraddon became angry. The blond elf grabbed Thanron by the ankles, swiftly ignoring his attempts at kicking away, and yanked him hard across the bed. The younger elf grunted as his arse met the cold stone floor.

"I need you to slaughter a pig for the master's return feast this evening."

Thanron pulled himself to his feet, glowering deeply up at the intruder. He hated how damn tall Imraddon was. It only made his height seem that much more noticeable when he stood beside him.

"Why don't _you_ do it?" he growled. "Just nag at the 'feller like you do me. M'sure it'll keel over right quick."

Imraddon spoke with an exuberant amount of effort, taking the time to drag a deep breath through his nose. "I am not the cattlemaster." He replied, in that unnerving controlled manner. "I serve the food. The food that you provide."

The raven haired elf reached for the brown tunic that lay at the foot of his bed.

"Yes, yes, I'll go kill 'ya a pig," he sighed as he pulled the shirt past his chin.

When Imraddon didn't turn to leave, Thanron suppressed the urge to roll his eyes. He swept a hand across his face and waited for more nagging.

The blonde elf ran fingers through his hair, a habit he adopted at an early age, whenever he felt the slightest tinge of anxiety. Which was often, the worrywart. Imraddom lifted his cloudy eyes to Thanron, lips pulled in a shy smile.

Thanron flinched at the sight. It was an exceedingly rare occasion to witness the older man wearing a smile, and it never failed to make him cringe in the foreignness of it.

Imraddon coughed at the palpable awkwardness and remembered that smiling was foolish.

"Happy Birthday," he said gravely.

Thanron furrowed his brow, bending to retrieve his wool pants from the floor. He thoughtfully pulled them on in silence and stared at his feet.

"That's today?" he asked finally.

"Yes."

The younger elf shook his head, tying the straw rope around his waist into a knot. "Strange to be reminded of my…" He jutted his chin in Imroddon's direction as his fingers worked the straw. "You're th' only one who bothers," Thanron frowned. "D'you even know your own birthday? No one else remembers theirs."

Imraddon shrugged and ran his fingers through the bright locks again.

"'Happy Birthday'," Thanron grunted as he made for the door. "Hmmph."

He _was_ happy for the reminder, dammit. It was a gift in itself to be acknowledged. Even if it _was _Imraddon.

vVv

A pleasant warm air on her skin woke Emma from slumber. She was still locked in Fenris's tight embrace, his breath heating her neck. The hearth had died and the air was frigid, so Emma was grateful for the elf's near presence. She leaned back into his chest and tangled her feet with his.

Fenris's voice rumbled in her ear, rough from sleep.

"Your feet are like ice," he complained.

Emma smiled. "Yours are nice and warm."

"How fortunate for _you_."

When the elf began to loosen his arms around her, Emma made a sound of protest and scooted her body closer to his.

He inhaled sharply when her arse met his crouch.

"Sorry," Emma stammered as she inched her hips away, "I didn't mean- it's freezing in here."

"Mm," Fenris grunted in obvious disapproval. Though, he did not try to untangle himself from her again.

They remained that way for a long while, breathing softly in the still morning. The sun had not yet parted the dark clouds, but the rain was light and soothing.

"When will he return?"

Emma winced as a small ache settled into her chest.

"Did I not say?" she murmured. "Tonight."

vVv

Silence poured into the room, as thick as the blood that roared in Fenris's ears. He wanted to yell and break things into a million pieces with his bare hands. He wanted to cry. He wanted to leave before it was too late. He wanted to take Emma right then and claim her as his. Mark her with his teeth, so that his master knew.

"So soon?" he whispered into her hair, smelling the intoxicating aroma that was hers and hers alone. "Are you certain?"

"Yes."

Fenris groaned softly and rolled onto his back, turning his head to peer out the window. The dark world taunted him with beautiful possibilities. The weather becoming too poor to travel, a tree falling on his master's carriage, an issue in the election that would need glossing over. Anything to delay his return.

But he knew that his master would be in the castle, just in time for his return feast. Even if the earth split in two, and darkspawn swarmed the city, Danarius would be ready and waiting in the dining hall.

Freedom was a sweet flavor, but it left a bad aftertaste. Rather than the last few days giving him the strength to keep going, it made him feel weaker. He didn't want to return to the pain and suffering, now that he had become acquainted with comfort. And with Emma.

"Tonight."

Fenris let the word roll over his tongue, let the meaning seep deep into his bones. He would need to simply carry on. And ignore the bleeding wound in his chest.

vVv

Emma flinched at the sadness that crept into his voice as he spoke the word. She bit her lip and forced back the threatening tears.

vVv

That day was different. They did not read or spar or take a turn about the gardens. They spent the entire day in bed, neither able to force away the sadness long enough to stand. They did not sleep and they did not speak. Simply laid, intimate and quiet. The elf would sigh and pull her closer. And the human would lean her back against his chest. They shared a silent understanding that it was ending and that they did not want it to.

vVv

"Ara, I had a dream about you last night."

"You did?" Ara chirped as her fingers closed around a pig leg. "What of?"

Thanron grinned and leaned against the kitchen counter.

"Well, it involved vanilla pudd-"

Just then, Imraddon entered the room, carrying both a heavy glare and an armful of wood. He crossed the room and dumped the logs into Thanron's arms and turned to assist Arathea with roasting the pig. As he lathered the beast in butter, he lifted his gaze back to the perplexed elf.

"If you have time to stand around, talking about pudding, you have time to help with the preparations."

"I only just _brought _th' pig here," Thanron snapped, bending at the knees to adjust the wood in his grip. "M'_self_. And that 'feller weighed at least two 'undred pounds."

"Go stoke the dining hall fire. We have a lot to do and time is running out."

"Yes, yes."

Thanron left, feet meeting the stone a bit harder than necessary.

Arathea peaked at Imraddon as he lifted the pig with a grunt and skewed its meat into the iron pokers.

"Why do you talk to him that way?"

Imraddon jolted, the pig nearly detaching from its position and falling to the floor. He glared at her after pushing the animal back into place.

"Please, Arathea," he muttered as he brought a candle to the pit, beneath the pig, "don't start this again."

"If you want him to _like_ you," Ara said gently, lips pulling into a small smile, "you need to be a bit more…"

"My loving him does not change the fact that he is infuriating."

vVv

A knock roused the melancholy pair from their thoughts, forcing them to face reality. Fenris wordlessly untangled his limbs from Emma's and left the bed's warmth. He pulled open the door with a gravity that would put Death to shame.

A familiar Dalish accent sounded past the oaken door.

"Hello, dear!"

"Tarma."

"It's time for Emma to begin preparations. I've brought her a new dress, provided by the seamstress."

"I will give it to her," Fenris rumbled.

"Thanks a heap! See you birdies later."

Fenris closed the door, the silky dress clenched tight in his other hand.

"She was surprised to see me in my underthings," the elf observed as he crossed the room. He uncurled his fingers around the dress and let it fall in a heap upon the bed. Emma would have protested if she wasn't dreading the occasion to wear it. "I had entirely forgotten about it." Fenris stepped to the hearth stone and collected the hide into his hands. He stared at it a long moment before pushing his arms through.

Emma rose from the bed and peeled away her night gown, throwing on the new dress without much thought to its design. Though she knew En had worked hard to please her, silk and embroidery were the last things on her mind.

She crossed the room to stand before Fenris as he wrestled his chest piece into place, noticing that his fingers were uncharacteristically clumsy. Emma reached to clasp what latches she could find into place and ignored the elf's sounds of displeasure.

As Fenris bent to retrieve Lethendralis, another knock beat the door. Harder and more hurried this time. The elf quickly shoved the sword overhead and onto his back before stepping to answer it.

"Danarius waits in the main hall," came the messenger boy's nasally voice. "Make haste and greet him-"

The elf slammed the door shut and turned to stare at Emma with tight eyes.

"Well," Emma sighed, heart beating slow and hard, like their last seconds together. "This is it, then. Are you ready?"

Fenris's face screwed into something desperate and furious, stealing the breath from Emma's lungs.

"No," he growled.

He closed the small distance between them and crushed his mouth upon hers. His hands clutched at the base her head and along her jaw, fingers twisting into her hair. Emma whimpered against his lips and returned the kiss with as much fervor. She wrapped her arms around his neck and pulled him closer, melding the length of her body with his. He sucked in a sharp breath as her teeth grazed his lip, meeting the gesture by pressing himself harder against her.

Emma gasped when she felt the elf's arousal against her hip and became lost in the lust it brought her. She deepened the kiss with a need that was more demanding than she could provide, slipping her tongue past Fenris's parted lips. His lips immediately bit the intruding flesh, rolling his tongue along its length. Emma broke the kiss to reclaim a fraction of breath, only enough to resume, and Fenris closed his lips around her neck as she gulped at air.

He held Emma up as her knees buckled beneath the weight of their kiss. Breathing heavily, he lifted her up by the hips and pressed her back against the wall. She wrapped her legs around his waist to keep herself from sliding and moaned softly as their lips were reunited.

"Fenris," she panted against his mouth in between kisses, "Fenris."

"I know." He broke the kiss and clenched both sides of her face, setting her brow against his. "I know, Emma," he murmured.

Another round of incessant knocking. Their hearts hammered in time with it.

After a long few seconds had passed, and the knocks became frantic, Fenris sighed and helped Emma to her feet. His hair was beautifully disheveled and his lips were a pleasant pink, a small smudge of blood in their corner.

"Now, I am ready," the elf smiled.

His eyes were brimmed with tears.

vVv


	38. I've missed you

vVv

Emma walked beside Fenris in silence. She glanced at him every few seconds, and opened her mouth to say something every minute. With each parting of her swollen lips, Emma failed in finding the right words. Her thoughts were a jumbled mess. She and Fenris had kissed. Fenris _must_ have feelings for her. When Emma had said his name, chanted it between each stolen breath, she poured all of herself into it. All of the desperate feelings that had begun to develop since their first encounter. Feelings of love. And he had said, "I know."

Emma stole yet another sidelong glance at the elf, only to find that his face was still an unreadable mask. The only indication that he might have felt anxiety or turmoil was the jaw that jumped as he clenched his teeth.

Emma squeezed the fabric of her dress as she opened her mouth again.

"Fenris, what-"

"Don't speak to me," he said sharply with eyes focused on the corridor that stretched before them. "Not one word."

Emma's heart clenched painfully at the command, but she pressed her lips together and remained silent throughout the remainder of their journey.

Finally, they neared the broad, carpeted staircase that trailed into the main hall. Danarius paced at its end, eyes following his feet with each stride. His hair was freshly trimmed and the peppered whiskers along his jaw were now a memory. The lack of his beard caused him to appear ten years younger. More so, as his features spread into childlike ecstasy when he spotted them.

He sped up the stairs, a wide grin on his face, and crashed into Emma with a force that would have knocked her over, had the elf's arm not reached out to steady her. The magister didn't notice a fraction as he buried his face in Emma neck, heaving an elated sigh. His arms wound around her body and melded her to him.

"I've missed you too much," he groaned. "You don't realize how much someone means to you until they are out of reach." Danarius loosened his grip only to gaze at her face and press a soft kiss upon her brow.

"I love you, Emma."

She balked at the words, and nearly turned to gather the elf's reaction before stopping herself. When Emma collected her wits around one event, another would send them all flying again. Oh, Maker, all was chaos.

"Are you certain?" she blurted without thinking. What could be this great man's cause for adoration? What had she done to entice him? She showed none of the affection she shared with Fenris, and no where near as much attention. "Why?"

Danarius laughed in that barking manner, cupping his palms to her cheeks.

"Because you are beautiful and because you are mine." He cocked his head to the side and narrowed icy eyes in consideration. "And, I shamefully admit, because you defy me."

"Oh."

The magister sighed and pulled her back against his chest, running long fingers across the length of her back.

"Those three days proved to be startlingly long, did they not?"

"Yes."

In truth, they had gone by in the blink of an eye and Emma found herself wishing that they were greater in number. If he had never returned, Emma would have been more than content.

The magister squeezed her hard between his arms, burrowing his nose into her brown locks and inhaling their scent. She peeked at Fenris over the top of Danarius's shoulder, brow creasing into a frown as she gauged his features. They were hard and straight, with cold eyes fixed pointedly upon hers. His fingers drew long, focused paths along the markings of his arms as he stared at her. Emma felt very small beneath his gaze.

Danarius clenched Emma a final time and lightly kissed her neck. He drew away with a soft smile, eyes roaming her face. He sighed and dropped the shoulders that had been tight with the anticipation of reunion.

"Well," he began, pulling her fingers into his, "before we can discuss the details of these days passed, guests must be greeted." Danarius rolled his eyes at that as he interlocked their fingers. "Go and say 'hello' to the ones you like, for I doubt you have said two words to them in my absence. And Larus." He smiled with a curious narrowing of his eyes, "That silly man has grown rather fond of you. He was very worried for your health and did nothing to relax my own fears. Even if Demetri caused you no trouble, he had said you were sure to find an offending stair or a deadly sweet roll." Danarius chuckled, releasing her fingers. "Now I must attend to a small affair before I can join you." He leaned in to kiss her lips, light and swift. It was not unpleasant.

"My flower," he murmured as he pulled away. He turned to the elf, "Come along, Fenris."

"...yes, Master."

vVv

Imraddon ran fingers through his hair, shaking out the blonde locks. He held the present in his hand and clenched it so tightly that his knuckles lost their blood. He stood waiting outside the kitchens, feast fully prepared and the main course, served. His rotation was complete for the night and he was set to eat his share of the meal and retire. But first, the present.

His palms sweat, cold as a turkey leg, and his teeth chattered. Clenching them shut and reminding himself that he is _not _a dainty woman with a crush, Imraddon wiped his hands on his robes and ran them through his hair. The parchment crinkled around the gift, a constant reminder of his fears. Would he like it? Would he even accept it?

Imraddon had always wished Thanron a happy birthday, but he had never the means to acquire a gift. This year, he was struck with the idea of a perfect present and had set to work upon the first month.

Thanron was an artist, though he would never admit it to a soul. Imraddon had found the boy, on more occasions than he could count, drawing interesting shapes and figures into the dirt as he watched the animals. One day, while he was assisting Saerwen in the kitchens, he was tasked with making the ornament cream for a cake. As he watched the blues swirl together, darkening deeper and deeper with every drop of food dye, Imraddon was inspired.

"Oi!"

Imraddon nearly leapt out of his skin. He turned, wide eyed and pale faced, to find the raven haired boy making slow strides toward him, hands stuffed into his wool pockets. He held the gift tighter in one hand and wiped a sweating palm against his robes.

"What're you doin, lookin' all 'spicious? What've you got there?"

Imraddon glanced at the bundle of parchment in his hands.

"A…this."

"Yeah?" Thanron made to grab the package and Imraddon thrust it away in surprise. "'Lemme see it, you git. What's it for?'

"Just hold on," Imraddon hissed as the boy leapt for the gift. Thanron grunted with an adorable effort as he jumped again. Not so adorable-like, the boy elbowed Imraddon hard in the stomach, and grinned as the package fell from his grasp and into his open palms.

Imraddon doubled over, wheezing, "You little-"

"Now, let's see here," Thanron drawled as he fingered at the parchment. He shook it beside his ear and listened to the light rustling inside. "What could it be? New set o' kitchen tools?" Thanron began to rip away at the paper, smirking around his predictions. "D'you smuggle potions? Tool to remove the stick out o' 'yer…" The paper fell away, along with his smile.

In his hands, was a set of brushes and three small bottles of paint. Thanron's fingers remained perfectly still as he stared in awe at the array of objects. After finishing his investigation, he glanced up at Imraddon with a perplexed frown.

"S'all this?" he demanded quietly. Thanron's heart lurched inside his chest.

"Some brushes," Imraddon replied, clearing his throat to drive away the quake, "...and paints…"

"Yeah," Thanron nodded with narrowing eyes, "I can see tha'. What is it?"

Imraddon glared at him and ran fingers through his hair. He shuffled on his feet and turned his angry stare to the stone below. "You know what it is," he muttered.

"Maker's balls," Thanron marveled and Imraddon returned his gaze to the awed face. "You got me these? For my bloody birthday?"

Imraddon's cheeks reddened at the blatant surmisation.

The raven haired boy released a long string of snickers. "So, who'd you have to fuck?"

"No one," Imraddon snapped. "I _made _them, you imbecile."

Thanron's face slackened in surprise. He glanced down at the painter's tools, closing his fingers around their shape. "You didn'," he murmurred.

"I did."

"How?"

"Crushed up berries, mixed in food dye. Carved wooden handles and cut some hairs from one of the horse's tail."

"Shit," Thanron lifted a paintbrush from his palm, examining the carefully crafted handle. "Why paints?"

"I've seen you doodling outside the stables. I thought you might enjoy some more sophisticated tools."

The boy flushed to his pointed ears, nearly dropping the paints in startlement. He quickly collected himself, however, straightening his back and squaring his jaw. He jutted his chin at the older elf, "You sure you don' know when yer birthday is?"

"I haven't the faintest idea."

Thanron's features remained stern, his voice gruff.

"Then it's next week. In exactly seven days."

Imraddon almost kissed him.

"Thanks, Imra," Thanron's lips pulled into a shy smile. "This's the nicest thing anyone's ever done for me."

Imraddon almost kissed him.

vVv

Fenris grunted as his back was thrust against a wall of books. A few toppled from the shelf and collapsed to the floor. He watched their spines flatten out as they met the carpet, pages whispering their indignation, as Danarius set to unlatching the steel plate of his chest. He did so in seconds as he was well accustomed to the ritual. The plate unceremoniously clattered to the floor and Fenris moved his foot away before it could be crushed. Danarius quickly undid the leather clasps of his hide and pushed it down his arms to reveal the elf's chest.

"Take off your greaves," his master commanded as he shrugged out of his robes. "Did I lock the door?" He leaned to peer at the door's latch.

"I did, Master."

"Oh, good."

Fenris stepped out of the warmth of his leather greaves and stood naked, resisting the urge to move toward the hearth. When he glanced at his master, the man's feral stare was travelling the length of his body. He swiped his tongue across his upper teeth and bent at the knees. Fenris winced as the man's warm lips wrapped around his member.

Nothing would come of this. Fenris could feel the touches, the gropes and caresses, but they brought him no pleasure. Before his master had grown used to the impotency, Fenris was punished for being unresponsive. It disgusted him. He used to resist, in those early years. That earned him a month of pain. Much more than standing idle did. Better to let his master indulge himself.

His mind wandered as Danarius worked him from below. To the days with Emma. Their time together was precious and unexpectedly perfect. The elf had not anticipated how much pleasure the simple tasks of reading and sparring would bring him. And today, spent entirely in each other's warmth. Who knew how glorious a body could be? Her lips had been so soft...releasing sweet sounds of pleasure as his lips trailed down her neck. So rewarding. The feel of her legs around his hips. So empowering. If the messenger boy hadn't come...he would have…ripped away that dress…and-and…

"Fenris," Danarius voice was low, "you're hard."

Fenris's closed eyes snapped open and he glanced down to find that he was, in fact, hard.

"Wha…?" the elf marveled with paling cheeks, disgusted with himself. How could he become aroused with his master's lips around his cock? The idea was enough to make him gag. Even if his wandering thoughts had played a part, it was disgraceful.

Danarius chuckled and resumed his ministrations.

Fenris focused on what his master was doing, forced his eyes to watch the act and thinking on nothing else. Thankfully, the elf managed to lose his arousal, as well as Danarius's interest in the deed.

"Strange," Danarius murmured, as he pulled himself up to his feet. "Well, no matter. Now, you'll do the same to me." He pushed on the elf's shoulders and Fenris dropped to his knees.

He cleared his mind and took the master in his mouth.

"Ugh," Danarius laid a hand atop the elf's head, tangling his fingers into the locks. He gave a pull as Fenris gave a suck. It burned his scalp. "Fenris…"

The elf carried out the many details of the act, a dance well practiced and frequently performed. He had been taught exactly what to do since early on, and did so without a thought to it. A roll of his tongue here, a suck there, a prolonged drawing of his mouth here, a tightening of his lips there. Clockwork.

"Ah...mm...was Emma terribly upset after reading the letter?"

Fenris stared up at Danarius in confirmation.

"_Oh, _I sort of feel…bad. You see..." His lips curled into a smiling snarl and he drew his head back against the shelves, arching on the balls of his feet.

"I...mmph... arranged for her fah-father to be made...Tranquil."

Fenris stiffened and ceased his movements. Danarius made no complaint, and instead brought a second hand to the elf's hair and began bucking his hips. Fenris focused on breathing as he listened to each horrendous word, drawing every force of his will not to bite his master's cock off.

"The Templar was... mine. It ha-had been brought to my attention that Em-Em-_Emma_'s... 'Papa' had already raised a lot of money to pay back her debt. With him... gone, the family will barely make enough to...scrape by... let alone-ah... reclaim her. Ugh..._now_, she is entirely... _mine_."

Danarius released himself into the elf's mouth, crying out the name of the girl he loved.

The girl whose father he murdered. And the elf had sucked his cock as he told him so.

Fenris wrenched away and vomited onto the rouge carpet.

vVv


	39. A mistake

_I did _not_ anticipate how preoccupied I would be this summer. My goodness. I'm sorry. _

vVv

"Disgusting."

Fenris wiped trembling fingers across his mouth, eyes fixed on the chunky mess before him. "Forgive me, Master."

"Do you really find me so repulsive?"

The elf quickly shook his head and desperately attempted to cease his quaking shoulders. "No, Master, I-"

"Save your excuses."

Danarius's voice was quiet, each word carefully pronounced. Fenris knew this voice to be his most dangerous. He was furious. The elf braced himself for what he had been conditioned to expect. A blow to the head. A lighting of his lyrium. A kick to the stomach.

His master sighed and pulled on his robes, tying them closed with tired eyes. He watched Fenris, trembling naked on the floor, before bending over to scoop up his fallen hide. Turning it over in his hands, Danarius inspected the small grooves and cracks in the leather.

Fenris flinched as the hide was tossed before him with a soft command,

"Stop your damn shaking and dress."

The elf stared blankly at the folded leather, reaching out a hand to grab it. No punishment? No burning or striking? This was not... normal. Though Fenris knew he should feel relief, the elf felt unease at the unfamiliar. He curled his fingers around the hide and pulled it into his lap.

"Are you sick?" Danarius inquired, voice low, as Fenris pushed his arms through the armor.

He collected the greaves in his hands, wincing at the quake in his voice, "I...no, Master."

"Are you certain?" His master stepped forward to trap the elf's chin in his fingers, bending forward to lay his brow against Fenris's. The elf stiffened at the touch, clenching the leather greaves tight in his hands. He exhaled when Danarius withdrew, a thoughtful frown on his face. "Perhaps you should go lie down."

Fenris gazed up at him in disbelief. 'Lie down?' What was happening?

"I am well, Master."

Danarius stared at the elf a long moment before shrugging his shoulders and retrieving the discarded chestpiece. "I don't care if you think so, you just vomited on my carpet." He handed the armor to Fenris and moved to his desk, leafing through a few new letters. He scratched his newly bare chin as he read a few lines, brow furrowed. Fenris quickly finished dressing, rising from the carpet. He glanced at the vomit, wishing he had the means to remove it.

"Don't worry about that." Fenris looked up to find Danarius watching him with curious eyes. "I'll send someone to clean it on my way to the feast." He dropped the open letter to his desk and crossed the room in lazy strides. "Go rinse your mouth and lie down."

"Yes, Master."

Danarius paused when his fingers closed around the doorknob and he turned to face the bewildered elf.

"I've missed you, as well," he spoke softly. The master cocked his head to the side in consideration. "It was the longest we have ever been parted. Perhaps, next time, I will bring you and Emma along."

Fenris prayed that he would not.

vVv

Emma stayed by Mirima's side, for Larus was nowhere to be found and Miri was the only other noble she felt comfortable with. She smiled awkwardly at the guests who pressed their concerns for her absence. Many had even thought she had accompanied Danarius on his trip, due to their total lack of seeing her. Emma politely corrected them all with blushing cheeks and timid laughter. Though he was a strain on her nerves and patience, Danarius was a large relief around the many guests.

Mirima pulled her toward a small group of mages and Emma plastered the small smile back onto her face. They were all around Larus's age and very sullen. Emma noted the dark colors of their robes and the ashen smears around their eyes.

"Necromancers," Miri murmured into Emma's ear before grinning and stepping into their group. Emma did her best to warm the chill that crawled down her spine.

"Hello," Miri said politely, holding a hand out to each of the mages and Emma followed suit. They held her fingers in theirs with a single nod and grave mouths.

A lanky mage with chocolate skin and blue eyes addressed Emma with a small shove to her shoulder. She knew it was most likely a common gesture in Tevinter, but it still made her frown in surprise. "You said your father is a mage?" His voice was deep and smooth.

"Yes," Emma answered as throbbing ache settled in her chest. She felt the tears prick behind her eyes, and wrinkled her nose as it burned.

"What manner of mage is he?"

Emma decided not to correct his present tense, knowing that she would surely cry if she did.

"Healer," she answered thickly.

The necromancers all began to snicker, grave faces cracked into condescending smirks. Emma then realized that they were not of the mages who accepted Danarius's decision to marry her.

"A 'healer'," the blue eyed speaker echoed with disdain. "Why am I not surprised?"

"Remal," Miri said, voice full of warning, "don't."

The man called Remal snorted and glanced around at his fellow necromancers. He jutted a chin out to Emma, "Healers always lose a fight. Is that why you ended up here? Your Daddy lose a fight to Lord Danarius and had to give you up?"

Emma's face heated around her growing anger.

"I'm surprised he chose the blood of a healer for a wife."

An airy voice sounded just behind Emma, "I never understood your lack of respect for the healing class." A hand was pressed against her shoulder to still their quake. "They're what saved your arse every time your stupid experiments with the dead went haywire."

Demetri curled an arm around Emma's waist and pulled her away from the grim group, faces twisted into snarls of disdain. Mirima stayed behind to berate them, hands waving as she rained her disgusts down upon them. Emma stared up at the Archon's son in surprise.

"So now you're being nice?" she said with disbelief coloring her tone.

Demetri pointed his gaze straight ahead, to the dining table where a few eager guests sat.

"I know what happened to your father," he answered curtly "And it seemed in poor taste to stand idle as those idiots insulted your dead father."

"Oh," Emma bit her lip as the tears that had been collecting in her eyes threatened to spill over. "Everything else you do is in poor taste, but," The tears finally began to stream down her cheeks, "thank you."

"You and I have differing definitions of 'poor'." Demetri grabbed a cloth napkin from the table and pressed it to her dampened cheeks.

"Thank you," Emma repeated, wincing as her voice cracked around the pain. She bent her head into the cloth and released a few shaking breaths.

"I am sorry for your loss," Demetri murmurred. "I know how painful it is to lose a parent."

"Your mother?" Emma sniffed, raising her eyes to search his.

"Yes."

"I'm sorry for your loss, too."

Demetri nodded and sat himself down and Emma settled into the seat beside him. He raised a brow in surprise at her nearness and she shrugged her shoulders.

"I still don't like you," she swiped the cloth across her nose with a frown.

Demetri smirked and shook his head, blond curls falling into his eyes.

"I don't like you, either."

vVv

Larus rushed through the halls, fighting the pressing urge to break into a run. He nearly crashed into a startled elf as he rounded a corner and bent to pick up the bedding they dropped. He muttered an apology before continuing his urgent search. The healer gazed down every hall, opened and closed countless doors. He searched through the kitchens and received a hard look of disapproval from a tall, muscular elf with short, blond hair. What was his name? Imadon?

"Where is Arathea?" he asked the perplexed elf with hurried lips. "She's not in her chambers, where is she?" Fear clenched his gut in its clawed fixed, puncturing the flesh. Images of Demetri discovering her recovery flashed in his mind. The clawed fingers curling around a spell, Arathea's eyes as they filled with pain and fear.

"She is in the servant's baths," the elf answered carefully, "down the hall to your left."

Larus's heart deflated its bloated pumping as he sighed in relief. He gave the elf a quick thanks and poured back out into the halls. This time, he was running.

"Ara!" he cried as he opened the door, hot steam caressing his face.

An old he-elf with drooping skin yelped in surprise, dropping the soap that was clenched in his frail fingers. Larus hastily apologized with heated cheeks and pushed the door closed. He pressed his brow to the wood, trying o erase the image from his mind and knowing that it would be in vain.

"Larus!" a happy voice chirped just behind him. He whirled on his heels to find Ara, skin flushed from the heat of the baths and wet hair pressed against her neck. Her face was stretched into elated joy as she moved to wrap her arms around him.

The healer squeezed her and laughed at his own desperate happiness to see her again. He was much too involved with her, it was foolish.

"Why did you not come to see me?"

Arathea spoke into his robes, inhaling the scent.

"I thought you would want me to wait until after the feast. So that Demetri-"

"You're right, I would have scolded you. But I became so anxious when you weren't just beyond the door…" Larus frowned into her wet hair and it clung to his lips, "I had to find you."

Ara giggled and lifted her face to his, planting a chaste kiss that carried more love than the wetter, wilder kissed he received from past women. She unwound her arms from around him and interlocked her fingers into his. "You should attend the feast," she smiled. "I'll be here."

Larus snorted at that, holding his hands up in a mocking weighing of decisions.

"Spend time with a beautiful woman," he lifted his hand up and let the other fall low, "spend time with a roomful of snooty politicians…hmmm...painful deliberation, but I think I will go with the first."

vVv

Danarius arrived without Fenris. Emma's heart beat rapidly as the many possible causes for his absence ruthlessly filled all the space of her mind. Did someone learn of the kiss and inform Danarius? No, they had been entirely alone. Was he simply unwell?

The magister was very relaxed and especially quiet during the feast. He said very little to Emma, though he kept a hand on her thigh throughout the feast. She considered asking Danarius where his guard was, but quickly decided that it would be unwise to alert her attentiveness toward him.

Emma picked at her food as the meal wore on, unable to eat while so many worries clouded her thoughts.

Demetri broke her anxious reverie, still sitting directly beside her.

"So, you and the lyrium stuffed elf grew close, didn't you?"

Emma stiffened at the words and turned to fix wide eyes on him, silently pleading with him to close his lips before they drew Danarius's attention.

"Not especially," Emma replied quickly when she felt the older magister's eyes on her.

Demetri managed to frown and smirk at the same time.

"Oh? One would think that arranging a meal for two in the gardens would require a decent amount of...liking."

She wanted to seal his mouth with her fist.

"A meal in the gardens?" Danarius sounded from his seat. Emma turned to find his unreadable eyes focused on Demetri's. "With my guard?"

Emma quickly interjected before Demetri could cause any more destruction, pressing a hand upon his beneath the table.

"Yes, why not? I had to take him with me everywhere, anyway. He might as well eat."

Danarius's lips pulled into a small frown of disapproval. "'Eating' is not 'guarding'-"

"We should do the same, sometime," Emma interrupted with a smile, "it was lovely."

"You should also try a hand at sparring together," Demetri added, smile widening as Emma turned to glare at him. "It seems that Emma has an appetite to learn since she and-"

"Yes!" Emma exclaimed with a clap of her hands. "I would love to learn, if you've ever the time, Danarius." She faced back to the Archon's son with hard eyes. "Good idea, Demetri."

Demetri chuckled and reached for his wine, signaling his end of the game. Emma released a breath of relief.

Danarius leaned against his arm, chin resting in his palm. His eyes began to droop and Emma eagerly leaned in to take advantage of his fatigue. "Are you tired from your travels?" she murmured. "Shall we retire?" She wanted to find Fenris.

Danarius lifted his half-lidded stare to her. "I have more matters to attend and the night is fairly young." He squeezed her fingers with his before lifted them to his mouth. "You may go, if you desire." The magister pressed a small kiss to her hand before releasing it.

Emma immediately pulled herself from the table and bowed a good evening to both of the magisters. Without a backward glance, she rushed out of the dining hall and into the corridors.

vVv

Emma muttered swift apologies as she pushed through the lines of waiting elves in the kitchens. Imraddon was assisting Tarma at its head, that usual concentrated frown on his face. When she neared him, Emma clenched a fistful of his robes. He turned to her in surprise, frown shifting into a scowl.

"What is it-?"

"Have you seen Fenris?"

The elf pulled his arm out of her reach with a snort.

"You humans seem to have trouble keeping track of your elves."

"Please," Emma said quickly with pleading eyes. "Have you?"

The tall elf's eyes softened at her concern. "He came down for a glass of water about an hour ago." He reached an arm out to stop an eager Thanron from jumping ahead of the food line. "He's somewhere, unharmed, I assure you." Imraddon glared at the smaller elf, pushing away his outstretched fingers. "You'll wait like everyone else."

"Tha' pig was nearly two 'undred-"

"I've heard," the blonde elf snapped. "Congratulations on doing your _duty_. Now wait in line."

Thanron grinned mischievously, crossing arms across his chest and squaring his shoulders. "It's my birthday, 'member?"

The elf's glare darkened and he clamped his lips shut. Thanron had won. He handed him a plate without another word.

"Happy Birthday," Emma slapped a hand to the small elf's back before scurrying out the door.

vVv

Emma threw the door open and clambered inside, eyes desperately searching Danarius's chamber. Messy, white locks peaked atop the couch cushion and Emma sighed in relief. Her heart ceased its frenzy as she approached the resting elf.

When she turned round the side of the couch, the elf's eyes pierced into hers. His jaw was clenched, a small glass of water held tightly in his hand. He lifted the rim to his lips and drew a small sip, sloshing it about in his mouth with fast moving cheeks. He leaned his head back over the couch arm and spit the water into the fire.

"Fenris," Emma spoke softly as she kneeled down before him. "Are you okay? Why are you not with Danarius?" The elf's head remained rested on the sofa, revealing the spine-like markings that traveled up his neck.

"He deemed me unwell," Emma watched his throat bob with his speech. His voice was especially guttural, and his skin was a sickly color. She quite agreed with the magister.

"What's bothering you?" she said, reaching a hand to fall against his brow. He slapped it away with a hiss.

"_That_, for one," he growled.

"What?" Emma said, a touch of hurt in her tone, "Me touching you?"

"Yes."

"You're the one who kissed me!" she cried indignantly.

Fenris released a sharp sigh and lifted his arms to drape over his eyes.

"I know," his voice was muffled against his skin. "A mistake."

"A mistake," Emma echoed with narrowed eyes. "You think so?"

"You don't?" Fenris lowered his arms and his face was smothered with disbelief. "Do you not know of your engagement...to _my master_?" He pushed himself up into a seated position, leaning over the edge of the couch to glare at her. "Do you really think a bloody slave can go around kissing his master's finance?"

Emma flinched at the blunt words, cheeks coloring.

"Not if they," she searched his hard eyes as they darkened with his anger, "I don't know, keep it _secret_. I don't want to marry him in first place and _he _is kissing _you_, so why can't I-"

Fenris let out a cold laugh. "Do you know how much of a fucking child you sound like?" He cocked his head to the side with a condescending grin, lifting his brows. "_'Keep it secret_, Emma? Really?"

"I don't know," Emma snapped, eyes watering around her rising humiliation. "I thought we could just give it a try," she sniffed, wiping a hand across her nose and hating herself for crying twice in one night. "If Danarius found out, we'd-"

"If Danarius found out, I would be dead."

Emma inhaled a shallow breath at the horrid thought, a loose tear rolling down her cheek.

"I don't want that," she whispered.

"Then we," Fenris impatiently motioned a hand back and forth between them, "need to stop."

Emma didn't want that, either. But the alternative was much, much worse. Mountains worse. The idea itself was enough to drive the color from her face, the breath from her lungs. She was silent a long moment, staring at the cold emeralds that stabbed her heart. Finally, Emma bent her head into a solemn nod, eyes fixed on the fur rug.

"Right after this."

Fenris grabbed her face in both hands and pulled it to his.

vVv


	40. We will try

vVv

Fenris's lips hovered over hers. Emma stared blankly ahead, eyes wide. Every muscle in her body was tensed for the contact that he promised, but nothing came.

"I was going to kiss you again," he whispered, and Emma could feel the warm breath pour into her mouth.

She grabbed a fistful of his hair and pulled her to him. Enough of this tortuous hesitation when their touch was inevitable. The elf inhaled in surprise as Emma melded her mouth to his, pulling him by the arm so that he tumbled off the couch. They crashed to the floor, teeth knocking as Emma worked her lips against him. The elf's body was stiff against her own, mouth stone-still upon her moving lips. It felt as though he was holding his breath in order to resist temptation.

vVv

Emma was being entirely unfair. There he had been just moments ago, desperately clinging to the hope that he might make a wise decision and smother their toxic lust before it consumed him. He came close to kissing her again, and quelled the urge with an effort that the Maker himself would respect. The human beneath him was starving for his skin. He had realized that she wanted him from the moment she blushed upon the first three seconds of meeting him. Of course, _then_, he found it annoying. Now, that blush gave him sleepless nights full of squirming at the mere thought. Like a damned idiot. Her nightly noises helped nothing. _Fenris, Fenris_. Ugh.

He glared down at her, as she struggled to reclaim his lips. Fenris clamped a hand over her mouth, "Stop it. _No,_ no." Emma clawed at his hands, a feral, almost comical look in her eye. He'd laugh if he wasn't afraid for his virtue. "Hey! Just-"

Emma dropped both arms to her sides and sighed angrily into his hand, a scowl written in her amber eyes. This time, Fenris couldn't stop the chuckle that escaped his lips. She was so cute-

Emma rolled her hips beneath his and Fenris saw stars.

Did he say 'cute'? He meant fucking 'evil'.

Fenris crawled off of her before she could repeat the delicious act again. He was throbbing and it was unpleasant and it was…he couldn't even think straight, damn it.

"'Right after this'?" Emma repeated with scorn from the floor. She glared up at the ceiling. "Right after you deliberate over whether you should touch me? Again?"

"That's not the conflict," he sighed. "I shouldn't. The issue is," he glanced at her body, sprawled below him. Her thin dress had bunched about her thighs, revealing the golden skin he loved so much, "whether or not I still care enough about the consequences." He eyed her curiously with a small smirk. "Do you not care if I die upon Danarius's discovery?"

Emma winced.

"Of course I care," she said softly, "but what is life without love's adventures?"

Fenris furrowed his brow. Was he living before Emma?

No, he was not.

vVv

One of the perks to living next to the girl you've crushed on for over eight years is, well...you get to live next to the girl you've crushed on for eight years. You can hear her movin' about. Think about her undressing before she gets in bed. Wondering if she ever...you know...mistaking small noises for _it _after you wonder if she ever...you know. Wanking to the thought of her doing just that.

_Now_? Thanron couldn't take any more of it.

Ara and her human man were...passionate lovers. The sounds that he had spent years perfecting in his mind were now a reality and he wanted to be as far away from them as possible. The rhythmic banging of Ara's cot against the thin wall, the muffled cries...he should have found them arousing, right? Wrong. He found them incredibly disturbing.

Thanron growled and leapt from his cot, drawing the thin sheets and pillow with him. He stepped into the cold corridor, shivers setting his teeth a-chattering, and shuffled down the hall. Thanron stopped before the door at the end, and gave a few impatient knocks.

He heard rustling sheets within, followed by an annoyed, "Who is it?"

Thanron dropped the sheets and set to his hands and knees. He hissed into the crack between the door frame and the floor. "S'me, ya lout. 'Lemme in."

vVv

Imraddon stiffened. What did _he _want? He pulled back his sheet and slowly pushed his legs out of bed. Blood rushed to his head as he rose to his feet and he pressed a hand to his face, arm held out to steady himself.

Thanron continued to pass urgent whispers beneath his door and Imraddon suppressed the urge to groan.

He opened the door with a scowl. The raven haired elf glared up at him from the floor.

"I'm sleeping here tonight."

Thanron scrambled to his feet and shoved past the larger man, whose scowl deepened as the door shut behind him.

"Are you?"

"Mm-hmm." Thanron dumped his sheets and pillow onto the cot and began to arrange them on the mattress. Imraddon watched him in disbelief.

"You are not sleeping in my bed," he frowned.

"M'not sleeping on the floor," Thanron replied as he stretched the thin fabric over the cot's frame, "and I'm not sleeping in my room." He snorted bitterly. "That's for damned sure."

"Why?" Imraddon stepped to the bed and folded his arms. "What's happened?"

"Arathea and Larus," the elf grunted. "That's what. They're noisy shaggers and I'm not having it."

"Oh," Imraddon shifted on his feet and gestured to his cot. "Then by all means, get in Imraddon's bed," he said sarcastically.

"Tha's what'm doin'," Thanron climbed onto the bed and Imraddon watched as the small elf settled beneath the sheets.

"Oh, good," he nodded. "Brilliant. And where shall I sleep?"

Thanron patted the space of bed beside him and closed his eyes.

Imraddon's frown would have faltered, had he not years of practice. "Beside you," he nodded again. "Of course."

He lifted a hand to his bare chest, feeling the rapid beat beneath the skin. Maker guide him.

vVv

Fenris moaned against Emma's mouth, lacing fingers into her thick locks. They felt so soft and smelled so_ good._ He felt as though he were drowning in her. She flicked a tongue out to slide against his lip, raising her hips to ride out a roll of pleasure. Fenris stiffened at the contact, forcing his body still as she grinded against him. He clenched his jaw and buried his face into her neck, willing the numb bliss away as it settled beneath his gut.

"Please, Emma," Fenris grunted as he moved his hands to still her hips. "Too much. I warranted a kiss. That is all."

Emma sighed and lifted her hands to his hair, pulling him back to her lips. He gladly accepted them, burying his tongue inside the sweet mouth, rubbing it against hers. Their heavy breaths mingled together, along with their limbs, twisting and squeezing upon the floor.

"When," Fenris spoke between kisses, "will he return."

"I don't know," Emma answered around his lips. "He didn't say specifically."

"It's been an hour since you came in."

Emma whimpered in protest as he broke the kiss. "One more," she pleaded.

Fenris began to firmly shake his head before his eyes locked with hers. He sighed.

"One more."

vVv

Imraddon stared up at the ceiling. A permanent scowl was plastered to his face. What did he do to deserve this? It was hard enough to keep his composure around the sodding boy. Now that the naive git laid just beside him in the darkness, it was all the older elf could do not to attack him.

A small sniff, followed by a harsh cough to disguise it, pulled Imraddon from his frustrations. He turned his head and found Thanron's arm draped across his eyes. Imraddon frowned as he watched Thanron's lip quiver, his shoulders moving in shudders.

"Thanron?" Imraddon slowly sat up in bed, wide eyes fixed on the boy. "What is it? Why are you cry-?"

"M'not cryin'," Thanron snapped beneath his arm. It would have been more convincing if his voice didn't break around the words. Imraddon sighed and reached a hand to close around his wrist. Thanron growled as the older elf pulled away at his arm until his eyes came into view.

Imraddon smiled sadly at the wet face, smeared in tears, covered in snot, and still remarkably beautiful. "I'm sorry," he murmurred.

Thanron glared at the words, face screwed up in an attempt to stop his coming tears. He bit his lip and breathed shallow breaths through his nose.

"I know it hurts," Imraddon whispered, daring to swipe a comforting hand across the elf's arm. When Thanron didn't flinch away, Imraddon continued the movement, heart swelling inside his chest. "To watch the one you love share the same feelings with another."

Thanron slammed a hand against the mattress, frowning hard to will the tears away. Imraddon knew how ashamed the elf felt to be seen crying. He always hated showing vulnerability or weakness. It was rather remarkable that he felt comfortable enough with Imraddon to display such emotion.

"I 'shoulda told her how I felt a long time ago."

"Perhaps..."

Within the regretful words lay Imraddon's own feelings. So many times he wished to tell the haughty elf of the turmoil inside his head. The thoughts that buzzed around in his skull, relentless as a summer bee. He came close to spilling his dark secret each time the elf's coarse beauty rounded beyond a corner. The fierce and wilfull spirit that remained ignited inside him despite everything nearly stole the words.

But the fear of rejection, the fear of revulsion, steered him from his heart.

"D'you got someone? That you like, I mean."

Silence stretched its arms.

"No."

vVv

Fenris's body suddenly became rigid against Emma's. His heaving chest stilled and his eyes widened in alertness. She watched his long ears twitch around sounds that her own human ears could not detect.

Emma whispered, "What is-?"

The elf scooped her into his arms, pulling the breath from her lungs in a short gasp. Without a word, he settled her against the couch cushion, gentle even in his haste. Emma heard his feet shift before the hearth and flinched as the door swung open.

Danarius shuffled inside, looking worn and irritated. He immediately crossed the room and collapsed onto the cushion beside Emma, letting go a weary sigh. Emma glanced at him, feeling stiff and out of place. Too abruptly wrenched from paradise.

Danarius rolled his gaze up to Emma as he rested an arm along the couch.

"You look odd."

Emma ran fingers through her hair in an attempt to tame the wild locks. She realized her breaths were still shallow and tried her best to deepen them. "How do you mean?"

Danarius leaned closer, squinting as he assessed her "oddness". Emma felt naked beneath his stare, as if he might uncover their secret inside her eyes.

"You're flushed and...swollen."

The magister reached fingers out to brush against her mouth, pushing at the puckered flesh. Emma's heart began to hammer inside her chest, fear pulsing with each beat. She knew that Fenris was in the same state.

He pulled away with a thoughtful frown. "Are you unwell? Fenris is. Perhaps there is something circulating the castle." Danarius yawned and rolled his neck. "I shall have Larus look into it tomorrow."

Emma's locked limbs slackened as relief coursed through her veins. "Yes," she agreed, "perhaps he is needed."

Danarius nodded once before rising from the couch and entering the bath chamber. Fenris and Emma connected eyes, equally exhausted from their anxiety.

Fenris mouthed the words,

_We will try._

vVv


	41. Don't ever leave

vVv

The weeks trickled on, slow and weak in their passing. With each hour, the ominous date loomed closer and closer. Marriage. Emma lay awake in the deep ticks of night, listening to the breathing of the man she loved, and the man she was being forced to join with.

Though Fenris had said that they would attempt to share a dangerous affair, he did not display any of the affection it would have involved. No more passionate kisses in the stolen seconds alone. No whispers of intimacy. The only indication that he was still intent on her was the fervent staring during their baths. Emma basked in these times, slowing her hands across her skin, provoking the urges inside him. Why was he not acting?

Fenris was not the only one whose advances had ceased. Danarius did not stray outside of the realm of kissing.

"What are you thinking about, girl?"

Emma blinked away her ponderings and turned to frown at the speaker, who sat perched on the end of the couch beside her. She leaned away when Demetri bent to read from the book in her hands and scooted to the far end of the couch. Chuckling, the Archon's son slipped from the chair's arm to sink into its cushion.

Emma muttered as she swiped a hand across the spread pages, "I still don't understand why Danarius gave _you_ access to his personal library." She raised her head to gauge his features.

Demetri wound a finger around a curled lock and pulled it past his nose before letting go as it sprung back up to join the others. "Don't you?" He grinned in that smug manner. "He wants to keep me 'occupied'." He contorted his face into the diplomatic smile that Emma immediately recognized as Danarius's. "'Please, feel free to occupy yourself with any number of books from my collection.' Which translates to, 'Busy yourself with literature to keep your nose out of trouble.'"

Emma snorted and lifted the book to her face.

"But you still find the time," Demetri murmured, "even with all the books you read."

A small bite of fear made Emma stiffen and she stared unseeingly at the pages.

"Find the time to what?" she asked in a deceptively nonchalant tone. Her fingers turned at the page as she spoke, despite not having finished the previous. When Demetri didn't answer, Emma's eyes swept to his face. He was leaning back against the couch, arms stretched along its rim, and wearing a unsettlingly knowing smirk.

Sparks of anger chased away the anxiety and Emma raised her chin in defiance. "Whatever it is you're implying," she spoke softly, "I can assure you that it is false." Lifting herself from the couch, Emma kept hard eyes trained on his, "Not that it's any of your business, what trouble I get into."

Demetri smiled with a slight twitch of his lips and rose from the couch to join her before the hearth. Emma swallowed at his nearness, his looming height over hers. His teeth glinted dangerously in the firelight as his lips pulled back to reveal them.

"That is where you are wrong," he whispered. "It _is_ my business, as the Archon's son, and as a citizen of Tevinter, to protect his subjects from…" Demetri lifted a hand to push back a stray lock behind Emma's ear, "...troublesome slaves like yourself." His finger slipped down to trace the outline of her jaw. "If what I am implying is true...if you and that wolf are-"

"We are not_-_"

"If you _are_," Demetri murmured as he pressed a finger to her open lips, "I fear my involvement will be most abundant."

Emma clenched her teeth before they could chatter. Even though they stood before the heat of the flames, she felt shrouded in a thick coldness.

Demetri smiled and turned on his heels, folding his hands behind his back and stepping to the library's exit. He inclined his head as he neared the door, eyes sparking with amusement.

"The big day is almost upon us now. Only one more week."

vVv

Demetri sighed when he opened the door to his chambers. He pulled it shut and turned to rest his aching head against its surface. Two deep breaths, four.

"What do you want?" the blood mage growled.

Hadriana giggled, a sound like hard, icy snow beating a window pane. He could hear her weight leaving his bed and her feet padding against the Orlesian carpet. When her thin arms wrapped around his waist, Demetri stiffened and whirled around to break them away.

"Don't touch me," he hissed through clenched teeth.

The she-mage blinked up at him in surprise. "But- I thought…"

Demetri crossed the room, pulling away at his robes. He wrenched open his wardrobe in search of his sleepwear. "What did you think, Hadriana?" He slammed the door shut and grabbed a fresh towel instead. What he needed was a nice, long soak in the baths to wash away his anger. Conversing with that slave girl evoked strange feelings inside him. Foreign. They made him angry with her. But mostly, the feelings made him angry with himself. And knowing _that_, made him even more angry. "That it would be more than a one-time thing? Don't make me sick." Demetri made his way for the door, where Hadriana stood with an uncharacteristic look of bewilderment.

"Move," Demetri barked.

Hadriana's lips curled into a slow smile as she overcame the surprise. He had hoped to escape while she was still staggered, but now she was back on her feet and ready to parry the blow.

"What in the Maker's name has got you so flustered?" she cooed, snaking cold fingers around his arm. Demetri thrust his limb away with a hiss.

"Move, witch, before I make you."

"I know what it is," she grinned, reaching for the knob. She pulled it open with a lick of her lips, voice rising to stretch along the corridor. "It's that slave, isn't it? That Emma girl-"

Demetri shoved a trembling fist against the wooden door and it slammed closed with a loud shudder. If anyone had heard…. he glared down at the conniving woman with an intensity that made her visibly falter. "So that's it, then," she whispered, staring at his tightening lips. Her eyes flicked up to his. "You're in love with the slave girl, too."

Demetri jerked a hand to Hadriana's face, squeezing his fingers around her cheeks.

"I am not in love with that slave," he murmured. "But say the words again and I'll rip your throat out."

"You want her," she amended, though the remark was greatly distorted between his fingers. Demetri clenched her cheeks harder and thrust Hadriana against the door so that her head met its wood, forcing a whimper of pain past her lips. But she quickly regained herself with a contorted smile. "That much is certain. I have been watching."

"Silence," Demetri growled.

"I see the way you look at her," she spoke quickly. "That hunger in your eyes. I've never seen a man look at a woman that way. Not even Danarius looks at her like that-"

"I said _shut up_," Demetri roared, letting the magic he had been fighting back seep from his skin. Hadriana gasped as it clawed its way into her flesh, searching for the places that would silence her ramblings. Her _heart_...Demetri closed his eyes as he felt the blood pump into her veins. Faster, with her rising fear. It tickled at the ache in his head, seemed to ease it a little. He sighed, cocking his head to the side as he observed her pain ridden face.

Hadriana cracked a smile, though the magic still wound its way around her heart. Demetri released her with a growl of disgust, shoving her away from the door.

"We can work together, my Lord."

He slowly lowered his head to meet her eyes, glaring, but momentarily intrigued.

"Neither of us want that wedding to take place. Let us work together so that it doesn't."

The Archon's son stared at her for one long, thick moment.

The thought of that pretty slave in Demetri's bed filled his mind in throbbing waves, sending jolts of excitement throughout his body. Defiant in her fear. He wanted to make her plead with him. He wanted to bend her body to meet his will, push the blood through her veins.

He wanted to taste her tears.

Demetri smiled.

"How?"

vVv

Emma stared at Fenris with narrowed eyes as she absently stirred about the bowl of beef stew before her. The elf seemed aware of Emma's concentrated watch, and kept his eyes trained on the tan hands that picked apart his meal. Emma sighed in frustration and promptly turned her back to him. She collected spoonfuls of stew and shoved them into her mouth, cursing the sudden distance between the elf and human.

He had said, "We will try." Try to what? Emma had thought the words meant their attempt to share a love beyond the magister's notice. But now Emma wasn't so certain. Had he instead meant that the pair would try to forget their lust? Try to ignore each other. The young woman ground her teeth at the thought and slammed the wooden spoon in her hands to the table.

"Blazes!" Thanron cried from across the narrow spread. "What is it, woman?"

"Sorry," Emma muttered.

Thanron frowned at her tone and leaned forward. "What's going on? You're usually all..." The elf's frown deepened as he searched for the word, "...sunny. Last few days, you've been as dark'n'heavy as a rain cloud."

Emma lowered her spoon into the bowl, watching hot broth pool into its hollow. If her change in attitude was noticeable to an oblivious airhead like Thanron, how had her frustrations escaped the wiser elf? She considered crossing the room to confront Fenris for the one hundredth time that week, but found no strength to do so. The fear of hearing words of rejection from his lips stopped Emma from approaching.

"Does it have anything to do with the fact that you and Fenris've been hangin' around each other a whole lot less these days?"

Emma met his eyes with a telling blush. The elf hid his smirk inside a wooden cup and let out a long, "Mm-hmm", to which Emma rolled her eyes.

Thanron lowered the cup, smile widening at her annoyance.

"You 'wanna know a secret?"

Emma raised a brow in suspicion, but nevertheless leaned across the table to listen.

"Every thirty seconds, that moody guy looks at you. Tries to be real inconspicuous about it. When he's not looking at you, you're looking at him."

Thanron's eyes darted above Emma's shoulder and he let out a short chuckle, lifting the cup to his lips. He set the water back upon the table and stared at her with an expectant grin. Emma frowned at the gesture before caving into the need to turn round and catch another glimpse of the elf. As anticipated, he was pointedly picking apart a honey-dripping biscuit. Emma glared at his bowed head and turned back around to find Thanron hurriedly lowering the cup from his face.

"Are you...," Emma sputtered with blushing cheeks, "...did you turn this into a drinking game?"

Thanron grinned wide, glancing past the human as something caught his attention. He snorted and lifted the cup to his mouth, "If this were wine, I'd be under the table by now."

"Thanron!" Emma cried, laughing in spite of her heated embarrassment. "You stop this instant or _I'll_ put you under the table."

Thanron smiled and turned to deliver his dirty dishes to Imraddon, who sighed at the addition to his work load.

"You could help me, you know," the blonde elf grumbled as he scrubbed a grimy pot. "Tarma turned in early and I still have a lot to do."

Grabbing a worn rag, Thanron immediately sat on the stool across a bed of freshly washed plates and set to drying them. Imraddon stared at the elf with a frown, soapy hands stilled from their scrubbing. "Thank you," he said slowly.

Thanron lifted his gaze to the dazed elf before dropping it back to the stack of wet plates. "Least I could do," he answered, "with you lettin' me stay'n'all-"

"Stay as long as you'd like," Imraddon blurted.

Thanron raised his brows at the hurried outburst and began swiping away at a serving platter. "Good to know I'm welcome."

Emma smiled at the exchange before turning a final time to peak Fenris, lips slackening when she discovered that he wasn't there.

vVv

Emma swiped her hands along the length of her pillow, feeling the softness against her skin. The slow sighs of Danarius tickled the hairs around Emma's neck as he nestled against her chest. She did not mind it, and rather grew well accustomed to the intimate embraces. There were far more unpleasant things the magister could be doing to her.

Emma rolled her head toward where Fenris lay, stretched out along the couch. His arms were rested behind his head as he gazed out the window, to the darkness of night. The elf's eyes were full of thought, brow creased to support their weight.

She wanted to call out to him and demand answers to his distance. What will they try? When? Emma stared at him into the night, willing the green eyes to shift her way. She fell into a restless sleep, his image burned into her unconscious mind. A dream she couldn't touch. The nights they had shared were now a far off memory, though sharp as knives in her nightly ponderings. The feel of his skin on hers. The thick, stormy voice as it lulled her to sleep. The words of that sad, sweet song rolling around in her mouth, down her throat, and into her heart.

Without a doubt, Emma loved Fenris. So much, that she forgot it was so. He was a part of her head. A part of her heart. In so short a time, he had managed to become engraved in her soul, a detrimental piece of her existence. The sheer importance of his presence in her life frightened her. Such a strong love was painful and all too intense. If Emma thought on it for one minute too many, a tightness formed in her chest, followed by a stifling shortness of breath. Undoubtedly, her need for the elf was was growing stronger with each passing day, at an unhealthy pace. Truly close and far. A dream she couldn't touch. Emma frowned in the darkness as the elf's thoughtful face blurred into darkness.

_No, no, something _does_ touch her. It's warm. No, hot. Hot and trembling with the strength of a push? A squeeze? A hot embrace. So tight that it burns. So tight that she…_

Can't breathe. Emma's eyes snapped open as panic curled inside her chest. The inability to draw breath drained the blood from her face and the fear set in. As the oxygen was cut off, there was pain. An aching pressure in her lungs that beat in time with her pulse while she desperately attempted to gulp at the air. A fierce panting sounded just above Emma and she could feel the short breaths on her lips. They were an unintentional mockery to her struggle, making Emma ache harder for the oxygen she was separated with. She blinked away at the heavy pain, and wildly searched for its cause.

Danarius hovered above her, face tight and focused on the hands that wrapped themselves around her throat. She stared into his eyes, pleading what her lips could not and found nothing in their depths. Their usual life was extinguished and replaced with a dark emptiness. Her legs kicked involuntarily, flailing heavily against the bed, but it did nothing to stop him.

"Do you love me?" he murmured. His voice was as hollow as his eyes. "Don't ever leave."

Danarius sat on her thighs, back bent to watch his fingers squeeze tighter and tighter at her skin. Emma managed to release a strangled squeak before all air was removed. Only tightness. Her head became feathery as her need to escape the magister's grasp was dulled by her need to find sleep.

In her last waking moments, Emma thought of the green eyed elf.

Fenris.

vVv


	42. I will never leave

vVv

_"Fenris...?"_

Fenris dreamt.

The act was something he detested down to farthest depths of his being. Why? It never failed to bring him anything more than trembling fear and restless nights. Images of Danarius standing over him, a thin smile on his lips as he cracked the whip. That silky voice in his ear, whispering all its dark intentions as he knelt, powerless to silence it. A night without dreams was a good one, in the slave's experience.

That was to say, before Emma stepped into his life.

Now, he dreamt in color, beautiful images and possibilities that seemed not so outrageous in his unconscious mind. Like freedom and discovering new places and things at Emma's side. Freedom. Oh, he did not dread sleep any longer. Though the nightmares still haunted him, they were fewer and fewer every week. To the point, in fact, that they had become rare.

And something strange. His dreams had started becoming...familiar in ways he couldn't yet comprehend. A passing face that lingered in his mind, a small phrase that stuck to his ears. A callused hand that grabbed his for just a moment, before he could raise his eyes to meet its owner.

But when he awoke, the faces and phrases dimmed into nothingness. The familiarity was lost to his awoken state. Only when he was dreaming, could he feel that strange presence of...something.

Tonight was a pleasant dream, and it made him stir with a tingling of his legs. Emma below him. Emma crying out as she dug her nails into his flesh, saying his name, saying the Maker's name. Writhing as he bit into the soft skin of her neck, his teeth closing around pulsating warmth. Fenris shivered as she collected his hair into her hand, nails dragging along his scalp. The dream was so real. He could feel the warmth of her, the tightness of her walls clenching around him. He could hear the sound of the sheets rustling as her legs searched for support against the pleasure. Her limbs flailing against the bed and each deep _thump _as they met with mattress. He could _hear _her ragged breaths, her helpless squeaks as he pushed inside of her.

And then her sounds of pleasure turned into sounds of...pain? The flailing limbs became ominous and he stared down at Emma to find her limp in his arms. Blood on his hands. He screamed.

Fenris awoke with a jolt, eyes wild with panic as he recovered from the dream. That was a nightmare. Emma had been in pain. He found it more frightening than all the horrible dreams of Danarius on his skin compiled together. The elf wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, crimson smearing the flesh. His anxious bite had broke the skin of his lip in his sleep. He sighed at his own fear. In hopes of calming his irrational nerves, Fenris turned to glance at the sleeping girl.

His legs moved before his brain processed what he was seeing.

Danarius. Danarius. Danarius. The name ricochet against his brain as he crossed the room in seconds. Danarius bent over _his _Emma, cold fingers wrapped around her throat. Fenris could see, with a horrified gasp, that her eyes were drooping closed. Her face was splotched a sickly purple, veins bulging around her brow. She was dying. He had to watch her dying again. Even after he had promised himself there would not be a second time. Here it was.

Anger. He was very, very angry. Watching the man who caused him years of agony inflict the same upon the woman Fenris loved filled him with unadulterated hatred. So.

Fenris was left with himself for three seconds.. It took him three seconds to make a decision, but millions of connections and alternate routes took place in his mind before he came to it. Time slowed down in images. Two roads stretched before him, standing out above the rest. One, a path in which he grabbed Lethendralis and ran it through the fucking monster. It was the most appealing of the two.

The other path…

vVv

Emma saw it all. It happened just in time, before she lost consciousness.

As his name filled her mouth, as her lips ached to form its shape around her dying breath, she lifted her eyes to see him one last time. He was staring into hers with that beautiful face, contorted into a look of pure horror. And fury. She watched him rise from the couch in one leap and scramble before the bed. The elf seemed to hesitate for a moment, lost in a brief thought. His eyes darted from her to the manic magister, and back again. And then.

"I love you and I will never leave."

Fenris rested a knee against the mattress and leaned to press his chest against the magister's back. Danarius blinked at the contact, but kept his grip intact. Emma's vision blurred, but she forced herself to remain alert so she could witness the strange scene. The magister's grip began to tremble as Fenris laid his own hands against them, running a soothing thumb along the skin.

"I love you," Fenris raised his chin to murmur the phrase into his ear, lifting fingers to run through Danarius's peppered locks. "I will never leave." The tattooed hand that remained atop the magister's began to massage away at the tension, coaxing his fingers to loosen around Emma's neck. Danarius trembled harder and harder, until shivers wracked his entire body and his face lost its vacancy. He released Emma all at once, raising his quivering hands above.

Emma could breathe again and she greedily drank in the air. The oxygen eased the tightness in her chest, and set to working out the severe cramps in her head. Emma was too busy coughing with a ferocity that sent her retching against the sheets to notice the relief slipping into her lungs. Fenris had reached a hand to push her head on its side so that she didn't choke on her own vomit. He watched her with strained eyes as she hacked away, biting his lip in between each whispered phrase to Danarius.

vVv

All he wanted to do was hold her. Pull her into his chest and say the same phrase he shuddered to speak to the man who hurt her. Emma's neck was bruised in the shapes of his master's fingers, dyed awful shades of red and purple. Though the skin of her face was slowly returning to a more healthy olive, the sight of her coughing up blood and retching acid robbed Fenris of any relief it might have given him. He wanted to kill Danarius. He wanted to kill him. He wanted to…

vVv

Danarius began to sob. Uncontrollably, sob. He brought his hands against his eyes and wailed like a child who had lost its mother. Like he had been the one to receive abuse.

"_I'm sorry,_" he moaned around a mouthful of air, "_I'm sorry, I-"_

"Everything is alright, Master," Fenris wrapped two arms around his stomach and pulled him off of Emma's legs. She gasped at the absence of weight, tiny pinpricks running up and down her legs as the nerves revived themselves. "I am here."

Emma flinched at the words. The words Fenris had used to console her when she had lost her Papa. It was strange to hear them given to Danarius. She found that she did not like it one bit.

Fenris pulled the man into his lap, like one would a child. Like he had Emma that horrid night. The elf cooed sweet assurances and rocked the older man back and forth, until his violent sobs became stifled sniffles.

Fenris's voice betrayed his eyes, however. The green eyes that never left Emma's face were full of an unrivaled fear, wide and focused. Ready for any action. Emma understood why. Soothing Danarius was like subduing a lion. One never knew when to expect the purrs to shift to growls. A single toe in the wrong direction and they were bound to be bitten.

Emma brought trembling fingers to her throat, gingerling pushing at the skin and wincing when it hurt like needles and heat. Her fingers slid to easily along the flesh and a curl of unease settled itself in her stomach. Her neck was wet. In her anxious mind, she believed it to be blood. But when she drew her fingers away, they were coated in a thin clearness. Emma then realized that she had been crying the entire time.

vVv

She was shaking like a leaf, eyes wide and tears streaming down her face. Fenris swallowed, breathing evenly in an effort to calm himself. Even still, the "I love you"'s left his mouth with more of a sharpness, and his arms tightened around his master in a less gentle way. Rather, constricting.

Emma coughed, lifting a hand to her lips to stifle the sound. She glanced fearfully at Danarius before wiping away a few straggling tears. The young woman looked very much like she wanted to run away, but knew not how to take the first step. Slowly rising into a seated position, Emma curled her knees into her chest and stared at the whimpering Danarius with wary eyes.

Fenris was troubled to find a touch of sympathy in their depths.

Even after he enslaved her, forced her into marriage, _strangled her_, she felt sorry for him? Even a little was far too much. And she did not even know the _rest_ of it. How he killed her father in cold blood in order to keep her at his side.

Maker, he just wanted to hold her.

vVv

Emma stared at the magister. He was gripping the elf's hand as if he might fall into an endless pit if he didn't, as if he very life depended on it. She couldn't help but wonder what caused him to be so full of fear. What had tormented him to the point of...this? Perhaps he knew of far worse than he dished out. Perhaps he was the most frightened. Perhaps he was the one who had been bitten by the lion. If she wasn't so scared of him, Emma would reach out and touch him, as well.

vVv

Fenris gently laid the magister back against the magister, pushing the sheets out from under his legs so that they could be stretched to his chest. Emma and Fenris both watched the rise and fall of his breathing, the serenity once again returned to his face.

Emma turned her head to Fenris, who knelt at the end of the bed, before the magister's feet.

"Was he awake?" she whispered, barely audible. Fenris was forced to watch her lips move in order to comprehend the speech. "When he did it."

Fenris dropped his gaze to his hands, studying the white lines that formed along the flesh. They sat in silence for a long time, until the question dissolved into its depths and was lost. The elf lifted his eyes to Emma's.

"Come here," he whispered, reached a hand that still shook to hers. Emma accepted it with a blink of surprise. She gripped his hand as she crawled to the edge of the bed and knelt before him.

In one fluid movement, Fenris collected the human into his arms and pressed her face against his neck with the palm of one hand. Emma sighed quietly against his skin, not having realized how badly she needed his touch.

"Emma," he spoke as soft as falling snow into her ear, "I was so afraid."

vVv

He never wanted to see the life being driven from her eyes again. He never wanted to see it. Maker, guide him, but he hated the sight more than anything.

_I want to leave today. The sky is big and my life is small. I want to leave with you, so we can build...a perfect garden._

"Let's leave," Fenris whispered.

Emma gripped his tunic in her hands.

"We can't."

He held her tighter.

"I know."

vVv


	43. I am sorry

_Thank you so much for the support :) _

vVv

Demetri bit the inside wall of his cheek, eyes roaming floral patterns that spanned the ceiling above. He curled his fingers against the soft sheets and tried to breathe evenly. The clock that ticked on the far wall mocked him with each passing second. How long would it take that wretched woman? Demetri growled and rolled onto his side, slamming a fist against the mattress. Why was he so agitated? What did he care what means it might require for the slave to be his? So long as the end result was the same. He closed his eyes in an effort to reach a moment's peace while time dragged, but they snapped when images of writhing legs and choked gasps burned behind his lids.

He replayed the exchange again in his head, biting his tongue in contempt.

_Demetri's voice was contained, but his eyes glinted with a hungry eagerness at the idea. The slave, becoming his? "How?" _

_Hadriana's lips pulled back in a wicked grin. _

"_A bit of influence."_

_Demetri nodded once in impatience, twirling his hand in a gesture of elaboration. "Of what manner?" _

_Hadriana bit her lip to bottle the excitement that leaked past her cold exterior. "I am going to awaken repressed memories from within my uncle. Ones that only I can touch."_

_Demetri blinked._

"_What will that do?"_

"_It will drive him mad!" Hadriana was nearly bouncing on her toes. She gripped Demetri's robes, forcing him to meet her stare. "Mad, is where we need him. Madness delays a wedding."_

_Demetri frowned and pulled himself out of her grasp. "I suppose you are the expert," he muttered._

_Hadriana scowled at the implication before launching back into her plan with bright eyes._

_"Tonight, when everyone is asleep, I will sneak into my uncle's chamber..."_

Demetri rolled to lay on his back again, legs aching with restlessness. He couldn't seem to calm his racing heart. Was the deed done? Or was Emma squirming in pain at that very moment? No, not Emma. The slave. What did matter if she was in pain? Demetri raised both arms to lay across his eyes.

_"I know for a fact that my uncle will become violent in some way and the girl will be nearest."_

He rose from the bed and set to pacing about the room, hands vigorously scratching at his golden curls. As if it would unscramble the mess inside his head.

_"My uncle's memories will drive him away from the girl-"_

_"While harming her in the process," Demetri clarified with a furrowed brow. _

_"She will be yours," Hadriana stated quickly, mistaking his concerns. "He will not kill her. Only damage."_

_Demetri flinched and his eyes ignited with anger. To put it in terms that she would not mock or question... "What use to me is a broken toy?" _

_"A broken toy can still provide amusement when one uses their...imagination."_

The Archon's son whirled around when he heard a knock at the door. He hurried to open it, heart hammering in his chest.

"What took you so long?" Demetri hissed before gripping Hadriana by the arm and yanking her inside. "What happened?" He quickly shut the door behind.

Hadriana was grinning like a child with a secret.

"That went better than I could have hoped."

_"What happened?"_

vVv

"What happened t'yer neck?"

Thanron leaned over the counter's edge to peer up at the purple smudge. Imraddon flinched as a cool finger pressed against his skin before swatting the intruding hand away. The blond elf searched for something to do on the opposite end of the kitchen, and gratefully set to folding the napkins that sat in a heap.

"S'that a lover's mark?"

Imarddon scowled at the playfulness that had entered the boy's voice.

"Thought y'said y'didn't like-"

"I do not."

The cloth napkin crumbled in his clenched hands and Imraddon neatly folded it anew with a sigh. He turned to meet the dark eyes that shined with interest. "Mind your damn business," he spoke evenly. Thanron visibly dimmed, gaze lowering to the table that separated them.

vVv

He thought they were friends, now, strange as it may have seemed. The nights they shared, talking far into the dawn and running on empty the next day; that was friendship. Why, then, must he hide so much? When Thanron bared all of himself time and time again, despite his discomfort in doing so, how could Imraddon not do the same? Damn it.

Thanron lifted his eyes back to the older elf, who had turned all attention to his folding. He could see a second mark, red and dark, disappearing into the top of Imraddon's robes.

"Hmmph," Thanron grunted in thought as he turned to leave. "See y'tonight, then."

"See you," came the gruff reply. The boy grit his teeth.

When Thanron neared the door, it swung open and nearly caught him in the nose. He leaned back in surprise with an intake of breath. His wide eyes narrowed when the tall figured stepped through to reveal another troublesome blonde.

"Thanron, was it?"

He stared up at the healer, cursing his unintimidating height and making up for it with bite.

"Lord Larus," the elf all but growled. He could feel Imraddon's glares of disapproval boring into his back.

The healer raised a brow, amused at the obvious hostility.

"Alright there, lad?"

"Peaches'n'cream." Thanron smiled without his eyes, but with fingers that balled into fists that pinched his palms. "You, m'lord?"

"Never better," the healer quickly replied. He glanced to Imraddon, noticing him for the first time. "Good morning."

"It is, Lord Larus."

Thanron arched on his heels to make himself known again. "There anythin' we can get ya?"

"Oh," Larus stepped backwards to the door, a cordial smile on his lips. "Oh, no, I was just-"

"She should be here 'round noon," the elf assisted with a vast amount of displeasure. But being blunt to the healer's desires seemed to ebb the pain of realizing them. A bit."Makin' her morning rounds n'all."

He left before the blushing human could respond, crushing his lip between his teeth.

What a lout. All blondes are louts.

vVv

_I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry._

Emma winced as a coated finger smeared salve against her throat. Though the pressure was painful at first, it soon calmed the dull ache that pulsed in rings around her skin. Where his fingers had been. She winced again, for a different reason.

"Emma…" Danarius began anew. His fingers trembled as he lifted them back to her angry flesh, smothered in fresh application. "Emma… I can't express- how-" he swallowed, nose wrinkling as his eyes began to shine with wetness. He released a shaky breath that was cut short by her small sound of pain when his fingers met with her skin. The magister bowed his head in shame, dipping glistening digits back inside the bottle.

"Fenris," he whispered. The elf was at his side in seconds.

Danarius glanced at Emma, a tear trailing down his cheek. He raised his unoccupied hand to her face and dropped it immediately when she cowered. She hadn't meant to, and she quickly straightened herself. It was a reflex, brought on by…

_ Danarius sat on her thighs, back bent to watch his fingers squeeze tighter and tighter at her skin_.

The magister was staring at his hand as if recalling the same instant, eyes twisted in pain.

"I am...sorry," he whispered for what must have been the hundredth time.

Emma's reply felt like a chant now, repeated over and over with each broken apology. It didn't sound real on her lips. It didn't _feel _real.

"You were having a nightmare."

_Was he?_

"You didn't mean to."

_Did he?_

Regardless of whether or not he had meant to, he seemed so wrought with regret. Emma could hardly feel angry with him. Only...drained and afraid.

Danarius nodded at the words, another tear streaking his skin. "Fenris," he repeated softly.

The elf's eyes were sharp and focused. He was the only one who had managed to quell his thoughts, pushing them behind duty and protection. "Master."

"Stay here today, I-" He closed his eyes and drew a long breath before slowly releasing it. "I need to be alone. Stay here with my flow-...with Emma."

"Yes, Master."

The magister's eyes drifted over the purple marks one last time, mouth tightening and flesh paling. He drew himself up without another word and left the room in long, defeated strides.

When the door thudded closed, Emma turned to stare up at Fenris, who loomed over the bed from which she laid. "He is so full of sorrow," she frowned. "I don't think he did it intentionally…" Emma's voice quieted as she found seething anger in the elf's stare.

"Do not pity him," he growled. "Ever."

Emma's focus drifted past the elf and to the window behind him. Dark clouds had formed in the early hours of morning, growling their promise of great winds and rains to come. The sound chilled her numb bones.

"I do," she spoke softly. Her throat throbbed around speech.

Fenris's voice was filled with barely contained rage.

"How?" he murmured. "How can you?"

"It is difficult not to," Emma frowned as she watched water begin to fall from the sky. Softly, "when he-...when he looks at me that way."

vVv

Fenris's eyes widened in horror. He felt compelled to break...everything. Starting with _him._

How could she be so stupid?

The monster killed her father.

She didn't know, she didn't know.

Anger so hot, it burned him.

He rested a knee against the bed and leaned across the mattress, fingers splayed out before him. Emma even...she even flinched when _his_ hand met her cheek. _His hand_. But he did not pull away, as Danarius did. Maybe it was selfish, maybe it was cruel, but Fenris didn't care. He needed to. The elf gently guided her cheek to face him, lowering his head to hers. He stared at the markings that spanned around her neck. They tainted the beautiful skin that carried sunshine like dark clouds in the sky. The skin that should have filled him with a sweet calm, not rattled his teeth. Tainted. He bowed his neck and pressed quivering lips to her skin. He could taste the bitter salve.

"You know nothing," he whispered against her skin, voice breaking. "You know…" His body quaked before Fenris realized he was crying.

Sadness so cold, it froze him.

vVv

Hadriana hummed a happy tune, idly combing fingers through her black hair. Her body stretched along the length of the library's couch, empty but for the sounds of flames and rain. The mage's lap was empty of literature, as she detested the stuff on all accounts. No, that's not why she came. Her real intention was to cross paths with…

As if on cue, the man of whom she'd awaited pushed past the door and into the library.

"Uncle," she smiled warmly. "I was just thinking of you."

Danarius said nothing. A small bottle hung loosely from his fingers and his gait suggested that it wasn't full of water. Hadriana pulled her feet back to allow the magister some room to sit. He wordlessly complied to the gesture, falling rather heavily against the cushion.

Hadriana cocked her head to the side, mouth puckering in a notion of thought. "You look positively drained, uncle. Did you not sleep well?"

Danarius shook his head once before lifting the bottle to his lips and drawing a long drink from its depths.

Hadriana stretched her legs out, resting her feet in the magister's lap, to which he didn't acknowledge. "I suppose I didn't, either," she sighed. Yes, Hadriana was far too excited to rest. She stretched her legs again to disguise the movement of her foot as it brushed his groin. Already, she could feel a gush of wetness between her legs. She felt so giddy with happiness that she might burst into laughter. Only a day in, and her plan was flawlessly unfolding.

Danarius stared into the flames with empty eyes, unaware of her casual advance.

"Are you feeling unwell besides, uncle?" Hadriana filled her voice with concern, leaning forward to examine his face.

"Perhaps a bit," Danarius replied tonelessly. "We think there's something circulating the castle. Going to have Larus...see to it…," the magister lost himself to his thoughts.

"Mm," Hadriana agreed with a small smile. She leaned further and planted a soft kiss to his cheek. "Recover quickly, uncle. A big day is near." The mage lingered against his skin, inhaling the scent of him. So intoxicating. She clenched her thighs together as a pulse of arousal answered the action.

Danarius's eyes widened a fraction at the mention of his wedding.

"Yes," he said, shaking his head, as if to unjumble the ponderings. "Too right."

Hadriana hadn't intended for the looming date to help him sort the chaos. She bit her lip in frustration. Oh, well. There was plenty of time left. And she mustn't push too hard, too soon, anyway.

The mage smiled and withdrew her legs before leaning forward to pull at his arm.

"Let's nap for a bit," she cooed, "as we are both unrested."

Danarius's lips pulled into the smallest of smiles, but it was enough to send her heart into the clouds. He laid beside her, wrapping an arm around her stomach in an affectionate manner. Hadriana leaned back against him to return the warmth, rolling her hips back so that her arse met his groin. To her annoyance, he didn't seem to notice the gesture.

_Oh, well_, Hadriana repeated to herself. _There is plenty of time._

It wasn't long before the magister's breathing slowed and she was free to dip back into his mind, to pull away at the lids of contained memories.

vVv


	44. I feel it

vVv

"Mother...it hurts…"

The unfamiliar smile stretched before him a second time, pulling back against yellow teeth.

"It will be better. Soon, my love."

He writhed against the grip of magic as it clawed its way through his chest and around his head. The young boy wrapped his fingers around the wooden post for support, biting back the scream of pain that scratched at his throat.

He tried to focus on something else, tried to be the man they always urged him to be. He curled his toes against the dirt and stared around for something his eyes could grapple. The bookshelves that held his fictional friends, the table he would rest his heaps of paper upon, scribbling away a different life for himself, the flickering candles that stretched in a circle around him. The symbol written in his own blood at its middle, where he hunched, tied to the post. He was reminded of the agony.

"But-" the boy's eyes widened as a fresh wave of pain filled his body. This time he could not contain the wail that pushed forcibly past his lips. He turned to beg his mother for freedom from it all, to beg that he might return to his books.

The words were wrenched from his mouth before he could shape them on his lips. That smile. His mother's new smile. He never realized how horrendous her teeth were, how deep the lines in her face ran. She was an ugly, haggard woman. Not at all like she used to be. No. It was the magic that did this. This smiling woman that caused him pain was not his mother. His mother did not smile. And despite the many years that he spent, praying that she would look upon him with warmth and love, he missed that grim face.

He cried out again, and the candles flickered and spurted.

"Mother! I cannot bear it!"

The young boy released the post and began to edge away. A firm hand on his bare back shoved him back to its wooden embrace, splinters puncturing the flesh of his cheek.

"You must, child! My dear boy, you must."

A fierce wind began to rattle at the wood barred windows, the pages of open books whispering their sympathies. It howled like a monster, commanding him to remain still and accept the horrible magic that devoured him. All at once, the pain became immeasurable, and the boy's knees buckled below him as he fell to the base of the post.

"IT HURTS!"

"Yes! _Yes. _It should!" His mother's voice was frantic. "It is powerful magic that holds you! It will make you strong. You will rule Tevinter with this power in your hand! For that, you must endure."

"I DON'T WANT TO RULE!"

"It is almost here now. Can you feel it, my love?"

"MOTHER, PLEASE!"

"I can feel it coursing through you as I merely touch your skin."

The boy grew weaker and weaker with each passing second, his mind dimming under the weight of the magic. He could taste blood in his mouth.

"Mother," he gurgled, "…make it stop-"

"The Pull has you now, my child. Can you feel it?"

The boy closed his eyes and welcomed the darkness that wrapped its soothing arms around his, comforting him in ways his mother would not. It promised him peace. Be it eternally, or temporarily, the boy did not care. He gladly welcomed peace in any form. His mother was still chanting above him as he slipped away into the darkness.

_Can you feel it? Can you feel it?_

vVv

"Yes," Danarius whispered into the dark emptiness of the library, "I feel it."

He stared at the empty hearth, the ashes that had begun to spill out from under the charred lumber. Flicking a tongue out to wet his dry lips, Danarius slowly pulled himself into an upright position.

It had been a very long time since he even thought about that woman, let alone dreamt of her. Now, two nights in a row, she had invaded his peace. Just as she had when he was a child. What spurred her return? Why now, when every piece was falling into place so perfectly?

The magister swiped a hand across his face, from his brow to his chin. He stopped to feel at the whiskers that speckled the flesh, as he always did in thought. Or, in this case, the semblance of thinking; for his mind was far too full of chaos to attempt it.

A chill rattled his bones.

He wanted to feel the warmth of Emma. But she flinched at his touch.

"I feel it," he whispered again. "The Pull."

vVv

Fenris wiped at his eyes, damning himself for being so weak as to weep in the girl's arms. After _she _had been on the receiving end of his master's violent awakenings. He needed to make her feel safe, even between the sharp fangs of danger. Emma needed to be able to rely on him for support.

If he continued to crumble before her, she might go mad with fear.

"Are you hungry?" Emma asked gently, pressing a hand to his knee.

Why did he want to cry?

The elf did not cry when he was beaten. Nor when he was raped. Not when the pains of hunger kept him awake through the long hours of night. Even when the others fell around him, unable to bear the burden of servitude, Fenris only felt a buzzing numbness in his head.

Now, his heart ached upon each glance of her. Simply, her. It ached so greatly that his eyes stung with tears. More abusive to his soul than their cruelty...was her kindness. It cut through him like a knife, stole his breath away. Love. Unadulterated love and longing.

It was better without hope. Hope is painful. Hope is something to be taken. It was better when he had nothing.

Fenris was afraid of her. Afraid of the feelings she provoked inside him. It only grew with touch. The more he touched her, the more the thought of its ending frightened him.

She was a cursed gift to him. Why must the maker shroud such a bright blessing in darkness?

"We've spent the entire day in this room," she murmured. "I want to leave it."

"Yes," Fenris spoke quietly to disguise the quake in his voice. "You will join the nobles." He cleared his throat and rose from the bed. "For supper."

"Mm-perhaps we could eat together, with the others-"

He wiped angrily at his brow, burning holes with his eyes into the carpet below. "_Just get dressed and_-," Fenris paused at the bite in his tone and sighed with a closing of his eyes. The elf turned to quickly change into his armor, not risking another glance at her. "Please."

For fear that he might never look away again.

vVv

"I think you've broken a new personal record for minutes spent staring at one object."

Demetri flinched as he was wrenched from his thoughts. Gratefully so, though he would never admit that to his sister. Instead, he scowled at her and stabbed his fork with a carrot.

"That's another way of doing it," Mirima observed lightly.

Demetri flushed and stabbed his _carrot _with a _fork_, dammit. Perhaps a little harder than necessary. He kept his eyes trained on the food before him, counting each meeting of his jaws.

"Don't worry, I'm the only one who noticed."

Relishing in a quiet tinge of relief, Demetri chewed a bit less deliberately, allowing himself a glance about the room. He lingered upon a certain sight.

"I'm also the only one who noticed that the object of your broken record was Emma."

Demetri's flush deepened and he choked on the carrot, despite its having been reduced to mush. After gulping back a heady slosh of wine, the blood mage met his sister's eyes.

"She's fascinatingly repellent."

Mirima's lips puckered in amusement, her eyes twinkling at the promise of provoking her brooding brother. It was a habit she adopted from a young age, when she discovered it was the only way to receive his attention.

"'Repellent', hm?"

"Fascinatingly," Demetri glared. "It's worth an observation."

"You're not observing, brother. _Admiring_ is more accura-"

"_Mirima_," Demetri hissed, glancing around to ensure that no one had heard the horrific accusation, "-that is completely absurd. Of course, I'm not," he dropped his voice lower, "_admiring _the bloody slave, how could you even suggest such a-"

"Why did you save her from those vulturous necromancers?"

Demetri stared at her, words stolen from his mouth. Why _did _he wrench her from those awful louts? He had said it was because her father had died, but...since when did he care about a thing like that? Brow furrowing, his eyes flitted in the girl's direction.

"Hm? Why, brother? I really want to know."

She was talking to one of the pompous noblemen with bright eyes and a relaxed smile. Her hands waved in the space between them, moving more and more animatedly with the development of her story. Demetri wished he could hear it. Her hair fell down her back, over her breasts, in gentle waves. Not in a tight knot atop her head, like the other tasteless ladies of the room. Ah...a rich, warm brown that shined against her glowing skin.

"Tell me, Demetri!"

A small laugh with a nod of her head as she reached for her wine. She perfected that bubbly calm. Serene and excited. Enchanting, it was. Or, rather, what did he call it? Fascinatingly repellent?

Ha. As if such a creature could repel anyone or anything. Haha.

"What is so funny?" Mirima questioned with a wary frown, all play gone from her eyes. "Honestly, you're starting to frighten me."

Demetri coughed into his hand and straightened himself, casting a swift glance about the dining hall to assess the damage. A few pairs of interested eyes rested on his face, perhaps hoping for a share in the laughter. Among those pairs of eyes, was hers. Had he been so loud? Or was it so strange for him to make the sound at all, that it attracted everyone?

Her face was mutely intrigued, lips pulled down at the corners. She raised a brow when Demetri stared on. He didn't even want to imagine the face he was making before he regained his senses. The blood mage raised a brow in return, passing her an offhanded smirk. That seemed to ebb her interest, and she turned away with a scowl.

He nearly smiled at the familiar display of distaste, but caught himself as he raised his gaze to the elf just behind her.

The lyrium stuffed beast was staring him down with dark eyes and uncontained contempt. He did not look away as the other elves did, upon their touching stares. Rather, he raised a brow, just as Demetri had done, and smirked in the same manner. Demetri almost laughed again, in surprise. The audacity.

The Archon's son winked and stabbed another carrot.

vVv

Danarius leaned over a pile of neglected papers, ink dripping quil between his fingers. He was going to respond to the inquiries regarding his statements made in the campaign, but as soon as he stared down at the page, words lost their meaning. The incident was clouding his mind, that look of betrayal in her eyes. It haunted him endlessly.

And that woman. The one who made him capable of such a thing in the first place. He thought of her, too. The smile that had only appeared when she caused him pain.

The quill clattered to the desktop as he dropped his head into his hands, clenching at peppered locks. He heaved a shaky sigh, trying to calm the aching throb in his chest.

"Answering fan mail?"

Danarius's head snapped up to look upon his visitor and the world spun on its end. The magister braced a hand against the desk and closed his eyes, moaning softly at the wave of nausea that had overcome him.

He could hear Larus's approach and slowly lifted his lids to find concern on the man's face.

"What ails you, dear friend?"

Danarius waved his hand in dismissal, a strained smile pulling at his lips. "Nothing your spells can fix."

Larus furrowed his brow as he lowered himself into a nearby chair. He leaned back in a gesture Danarius knew all too well. The healer's eyes were expectant, yet patient. Waiting for the inevitable reveal.

There was no use dodging his old companion. Sooner or later, the truth would spill eagerly past his traitor lips, and Larus would soak it in with sympathetic eyes and saddened sighs. It was his power over Danarius. He could withhold any information from anyone, save Larus. The man never failed to gain the older mage's confidence. In all things. So shall be the case with this.

He wasted no time and the words poured from his mouth before he could consciously select them.

"I have done terrible things to her."

Larus's brow deepened at the abrupt confession, but waiting in silence for his continuance.

"I am responsible for her father's death," Danarius spoke slowly and carefully, felt the sting of each syllable. "I hear her weep beside me in the night over his loss. I feel-...I feel regret."

The concentrated frown on the younger mage's face was wiped clean as he stared in dazed confusion. Danarius chuckled darkly at his bewilderment, scratching blunt nails against the oak. He traced a groove as the empty smile slowly left his mouth and his brow deepened under the weight of his thoughts.

"I do. For the first time since- for the first time, I feel it. I would undo what has been done, were it possible." Danarius leaned over the desk, eyes widening at the horror of his own words and voice dropping with the difficulty to utter them. "I strangled her. I would undo that for anything. Any life. Any price. I regret that more than anything I have ever done. Maker...anything."

"Danarius…"

"I feel I am losing myself to her. Losing myself to this ache in my chest. It's unbearable. I want to…," he lifted his palm and studied the skin, recalling the feeling of her hair against his fingertips, "...touch her, to numb the pain." Danarius dropped his hand back to the oak with an audible thump. "But she cowers...I frighten her. As I should. More than she knows."

Danarius raised his gaze to the awed mage who stared at his mouth in disbelief. He was discovering that they shared a same language, that Danarius knew the words and had simply never the need to use them. _Regret, pain…_

"I love… I love Emma."

_Love._

"I told her so. No sooner had I spoke the words than I realized they were true."

Larus parted his lips, as if to say something, but closed it when no response could find him.

The older mage's eyes drifted to the fire, watched the bright embers darken the wood around them. Feasting on the bark like a ravenous beast. He observed the feed as he spoke.

"I feel his influence again. After all these years...he's awakened for reasons I cannot understand. Perhaps, it is her. Perhaps, it was inevitable. But I feel it."

"You mean you...you mean it's back?"

Danarius passed a lazy glance to his friend upon hearing the words and found him staring with eyes full of fear. Larus leaned forward in his chair, as if that might help him make sense of his friend's admission.

"But...I thought it was...I thought the boy helped you to overcome it."

Danarius shook his head.

"He weakened it enough so that I might grab hold of its reins. Now, I fear he won't be enough to keep it at bay."

"Don't speak of such things," Larus hissed anxiously, gripping the arms of his chair. "You control the Pull, _you_ mastered it all those years ago."

The magister fixed him with a tired smile. A swift and simple gesture that shattered every ray of hope in his friend's eyes.

"My Pull is not of this world," Danarius murmured softly. "It is of the Fade."

Larus's face contorted into a grimace before dropping to his hands, shoulders tense.

Danarius looked back upon the fire, just as the wood shifted beneath the flames. Like knees buckling in defeat. The magister tilted his head as he observed the consumption. The flames would eat without stopping until the wood was reduced to ash.

He was the wood.

And the demon living inside him…

was the flame.

"_Can you feel it, Danarius? Can you feel it?"_

"I feel it," Danarius whispered.

He felt the lick of the flames.

vVv


	45. What did it feel like?

vVv

Thanron frowned at his brushes. _His brushes._ The elf had never owned anything before. It was a strange concept for his mind to grasp. He gently swept a thumb over the coarse bristles and pinched them between careful fingers. There were several brushes with different amounts of hair, to allow more or less precision and breadth. Least that's the fancy words Imraddon had used to explain it. Thanron would have been happy with just one brush. Because it would still be _his _brush.

Kneeling against the stone floor, he set each brush individually upon the cloth before him. Thanron then inched every brush so that they lay perfectly spaced apart, perfectly straight. He did this even though he would be wrapping them up in a worn cloth, making his efforts pointless. It pleased him to see them lined up, to watch the wooden handles that had been painstakingly crafted sit side by side. Imaraddon had used the legs of a broken chair-what's fate was to be tossed outside in the rain-to make each shaft. Cherry wood, it was. Gleaming, dark and beautiful as sin, with red hints in its layers. Thanron loved to hold them close to a candle's flame and watch the light dance against its polished surface.

He lifted the smallest brush and held it to the light, squinting at the thin bristles and admiring the cherry wood's shine.

"Are you going to actually paint with them someday?"

Thanron inhaled sharply and clenched the brush in his hand before he could drop it in surprise. He turned to glare up at the elf who stood before him, but it fell away at the site of his appearance.

Imraddon was tired. A sheen of sweat on his brow, a color to his cheeks. As if he had run from the far wing of the castle, all the way to his chambers. The short blonde locks that never seemed out of place were standing on end. The robes that he took great pains to keep crisp as fall leaves were crinkled and tied half hazardly at the waist.

"You've been shaggin'!" Thanron cried, shooting an accusing finger up at the elf from his position on the floor. "Don' try'n deny it this time! I know a finished lout when I seen one!" He quickly turned back to his brushes and wrapped them up in the cloth. He pulled away at a loose stone in the wall and gently set his cloth inside the small space before replacing it. Muttering all the while, "Take _me _for a fool," and "Think I'm some naive pup who don't know what's what."

"Thanron…" the older elf sighed as he lowered himself onto his cot. "In the end, it's my business, isn't it?"

Thanron paused, gazing at the stone that hid his brushes a long moment before turning to meet the weary eyes. The remark stung. Choosing to ignore it, lest his mind get too twisted around what it might mean, Thanron fixed the elf with a familiar scowl and scrambled to his feet.

"Least tell me who it is."

Imraddon stared up at him in silence, lips pressed together in tired agitation. He leaned his weight on one knee and swiped a hand through his wild hair. "I couldn't tell you if I wanted to."

A chuckle escaped Tharon's lips and his eyes narrowed at the idea of it, "Top secret shaggin', is it? So, she's a human, then."

Imraddon's eyes widened a fraction, but he turned his attention to the bed and busied himself with arranging its thin sheets. Thanron smirked, having caught the tiny slip in his composure.

"What're you doin' with a human girl?"

The older elf, finished with his ministrations, rose from the cot and shrugged out of his robes. Thanron's openly stared at his bare chest, feeling a burning sense of envy in his gut. Why'd he have to be so small? No matter how hard he pushed his body; the push-ups, the sit-ups, the pull-ups, every other up you could name. Thanron did 'em. Nothing ever seemed to change. Sure, he had muscles, but he wasn't _big. _Not like Imraddon. He turned his eyes to the floor, glaring at his toes as they curled against stone.

"Why haven't you started painting yet?" Imraddon asked as he settled back onto the thin mattress. "Is there something wrong with the brushes?"

Thanron's head snapped up at the outrageous question. "_No_," he exclaimed, eyes full of anger. "Nothin's wrong with my brushes!"

The older elf blinked in surprise, raising his hands in defense. "Alright," he answered quickly. "Nothing is wrong with them."

Thanron grunted his approval before pulling away at his own clothes. He bent over to pull the tan pants down his legs and off his feet, still frowning at the thought of his brushes not receiving proper recognition. They were perfect, damn it.

When he rose and stepped over the crumpled pants, he found Imraddon staring at his chest, too. Feeling self conscious, he glanced down at his stomach, tensing the muscles and wishing they were more impressive. Imraddon was probably smirking inside and comparing his own barrell gut to Thanron's. Or his lack their of. The raven haired elf scowled, and turned to blow out the bedside candle, shrouding them in darkness. It made him feel a little better, but not much.

"You didn't answer my question," Imraddon sighed as he lay back against the cot.

"Yeah, well," Thanron pulled back the sheets with one hand and rubbed his eyes with the other, "you didn't answer mine, either."

"It's not a girl I'm shagging."

Thanron's fingers stilled against his eyes. He was silent for a few breaths.

"What the hell's tha' mean?" he finally asked with a short laugh. "S'it a sheep?"

vVv

He was holding his breath. His heart was hammering in his chest. It was too late to take it back. Too late. His heart was going to explode. He could feel its beat everywhere. In his fingertips, in his mouth, in his stomach, in his _dick_, for Maker's sake. Why did he say it? It just came out. _Why_?

Thanron was waiting for him to speak.

He couldn't.

And then Imraddon did speak. Quietly, clearly.

"I'm in love with you."

vVv

Emma murmured a quick thank you as Fenris held the door open for her exit. They stepped silently into the main hall. Emma glanced at the door to Danarius's study before turning to the elf. She sensed something off about him, and though she would have liked to talk about it, having time to himself seemed the best thing for Fenris. Maker knew he barely had any of _that_. He was probably stressed from the chaotic events and needed time to wind down.

"You have to be hungry by now," Emma insisted. "I'm going to pick out a book, and then I'll return directly to my chamber. You don't need to guard me."

"No," Fenris answered quickly, eyes finally meeting hers. No matter her attempts, she hadn't been able to receive the elf's gaze. Her heart fluttered at the tiny intimacy. "Demetri has been more attentive to you than usual. I think it would be best if I-"

"You've become much less grumpy since you started eating regularly," Emma teased with a smile, "and I don't wish to see the mood's return. Go eat and bathe. I promise to go straight from the library to my chamber."

Fenris hesitated, but his rumbling stomach betrayed him.

"Directly," he answered gravely, eyes full of warning. "No detours."

She smiled at the authoritative note to his voice. "Yes, Lord Fenris," she assented with a deep curtsy.

The elf blushed-a pleasing rouge on tan cheeks-and glanced away uncomfortably. Surely, he had never been addressed as a "Lord" before. He turned awkwardly on his heels before striding, with much more poise, down the corridor.

Emma observed the elf's departure with envious eyes, cocking her head and wishing her limbs could be capable of such grace. She suddenly found herself silly to have become disappointed by his superior fighting when her _walk_ wasn't near to the same caliber.

Sighing, Emma crossed the entrance hall and carefully pried open the door to Danarius's study. She made quiet steps inside, mindful of the possibility that he might be within, buried beneath a mountain of papers.

And so he was, though no paper obstructed him from starting upon her entry. His eyes widened at the sight of her before clouding with fierce emotion.

Already, the sentences she had been chanting all morning came rushing back to her mind. She flicked a tongue out to wet her lips as they formed on her tongue, preparing to speak assurances.

_You didn't mean to...Not your fault…_

Movement beside the hearth drew her from her thoughts. Larus was wearing an apologetic smile, as if _he _had been the intruder and not Emma. His lips carried the ghost of something other than a smile, the ghost of something grim.

It was then that Emma felt the heavy atmosphere. The forbidding air, thick as molasses, difficult to breathe in. She watched the worn healer wade through it, noticed the effort on his brow as he struggled to disguise its thickness at his heels. Emma returned the smile, silly as it felt on her lips.

Larus left, leaving the door open behind him, so that she might follow. She stared out its opening, listening to the man's leather heels as they struck the marble. With a small frown, Emma rested an open palm on the door's surface and pushed it closed with a gentle thud.

When she turned back to the magister, he was wearing an expression of pure, unshielded disbelief.

Emma forced her lips upward and crossed the room with certain strides. She settled onto the sofa before the hearth and helped herself to the wine that rested on the table beside it. After swirling the redness around in the glass, smelling its sweet aroma, she drew a long gulp from its depths. When she lifted her eyes back to the magister, he was still frozen in that bewildered denial. His already furrowed brow deepened at the meeting of their eyes in a silent inquiry.

_What in Maker's name are you doing here, alone with _me_?_

"So," Emma began as she rested her glass's bottom against the sofa's arm, "you strangled me last night."

Danarius flinched at the blunt statement, sputtering words of apology before he could string them into a proper sentence. Emma held up a hand to silence him. Bold, but she felt it her right after last night. They were engaged, after all. And he nearly killed her.

He dropped his gaze to his desktop, to the empty glass of rum before him. His eyes were red with old tears and sheening with fresh ones. All at once, Emma decided the man had experienced enough guilt. For a crime that he obviously hated committing in the first place. Who could condemn a man when he was so wrought with guilt? And when his victim sat comfortably before him?

"Apologies aside," Emma said gently, eyes softening, "why did you do it?"

Danarius's head snapped up at the simple question.

"I don't know."

The answer was written in his eyes, but not on his lips.

Emma frowned in thought, searching his face for clues that might lead to the true reason.

"What can I do?" she asked instead. "Next time. If Fenris isn't there to stop-"

Emma paused as fury contorted the magister's features. His voice was dangerously quiet.

"There will be no 'next time'."

She smiled at that. The look of determination on his face. She lifted the glass to her lips and pulled a relaxed drag of wine.

"What did it feel like?"

Danarius's anger left his face as quickly as it had appeared.

"What did you say?" he whispered, barely audible.

"What did it feel like? What made you act that way? You looked terrified and angry and very sad."

vVv

_What does it feel like, my love?_

"It hurts," Danarius panted against the post, lips rubbing along its splintered surface as he spoke. "It feels like buzzing and aching. And fire."

It felt like loneliness and anger.

"What is it like?" Taloned fingers pushed and prodded at his back, as if that might coax the answers out faster. "The force inside you...does it speak?"

Loudly. Much too loudly. Mean.

"No," the boy lied, toes curling around the pain. "It is silent."

His mother's voice was wrought with disappointment. "Silent?" she echoed quietly. "That is unexpected."

"Can I step away, now, Mother?"

He felt the pain all over. And the loneliness and the anger. He wanted to harm his Mother for the pain she caused him. But that might make her leave. And he never wanted that, ever. He was so lonely.

The voice buzzed inside his head like a billion insects in the night, all singing at once. Unpleasant. Harsh against his skull. He could pick out words.

_...good boy... hello...Pull her... kill her... good boy...listen, boy... Pull her... hello, boy... thank you... together... we Pull her...blood...good boy...listen...hello..._

He turned to find his mother biting her nails bloody, muttering broken phrases and pieces of incantation as she paced restlessly about the room.

"Silent," she repeated finally, spitting out the end of a chewed off nail. "That isn't necessarily bad, no. Because you feel it. As long as you feel it." His mother suddenly ceased her strides, raising a wild stare to his face, searching it desperately. Her lips shook around a whimper as she spoke, eyes full of sudden fear. "You do feel it, don't you, love?"

Danarius felt a curl of disgust in his belly. This woman was not his mother. She had changed so much since he'd turned nine. Now, only a year later, his mother was unrecognizable. Ugly. Horrible. Cruel. She made him do things he didn't want to. Made him feel things he didn't want to.

The buzzing was becoming more coherent.

_...yes, hello, boy. Must Pull this one. True, not Mother. Pull the imposter…_

"No," he told the voice, trying to push it from his mind. The voice laughed at his attempts.

_...impossible. Are together, now. Pull her. Like a good boy…_

"_No?_" his mother screeched, nails lifting to claw at her cheeks. "_You don't feel it?_" she began to cry dry, broken sobs. "_What did you do? It was _perfect_, everything was perfect! What did you do?_" His mother crossed the room in a wave of fury that crashed into him, slamming his small body against the post with a force that stole his breath. She began to strike him with closed fists, eyes full of rage and hate. _"You useless thing. You didn't let it in? How could you do this to me? To your own mother!"_

"No, mother," Danarius choked, hands shielding his face from the blows, "I can feel it! I can hear it, too! I can-"

"_LIAR!" _she screamed. "_Useless child. Useless, useless!"_

The voice was clear as day now.

_You must kill this dreadful woman, boy. She is not your Mother. You must kill her and be free. Use the Pull._

"_Mother, please!" _Danarius begged as tears streamed down his cheeks. "_Listen to me. I'm so sorry! I can feel it!"_

"_I hate you, you horrid child," _his mother howled, fists leaving his skin. Somehow, this felt worse. No, it was the words that dealt the blows now. They struck him harder. Left him bleeding on the inside. He swallowed back a moan of anguish. "_I'll find another way! Another way! I'm leaving you!"_

"NO!" Danarius shrieked and the panic rose to mountainous heights within him. "You can't leave me! You love me! You're my mother! You have to love me! I'm your Danny!"

_Pull the woman. Your mother is already gone. Pull her. _

His mother released a humorless, barking laugh at that before settling cold eyes on his.

"I don't love you," she spoke evenly, with a toothy grin. "You're no son of mine. I wouldn't mother such a useless beast."

_Enough of this! Pull her! Pull-_

Danarius Pulled her.

_Good boy. Hello. I am the Pull._

"Hello," the boy whispered dazedly into the still silence. He wiped the palm of his hand against his naked leg, steady tears warming his face. "I am Danarius."

_What did it feel like?_ the voice asked eagerly. Excitedly. _How did you like the Pull?_

vVv

"Danarius," Emma murmured as she gently pulled the shaking hands from his tear stained face. So she could search his eyes. They were empty.

"You can't leave me!" he moaned between broken cries. "You have to love me!"

Emma collected his hands into hers, stroking the skin and whispering assurances.

"I haven't left, Danarius."

The magister's head drooped in defeat, teardrops falling against his robes. "You can't…"

"No, and I won't," Emma insisted. She pinched his chin between her fingers and forced his eyes up to meet hers. "I won't leave."

"Please…" he whispered, leaning into her touch.

"Yes," Emma rested a hand against his brow, pushing the hair from his eyes. He was running a high fever, she realized with a gasp. "You're burning up!"

The magister moaned, a fresh wave of tears coursing down his cheeks. "Please," he begged.

"I need to get some help. Wait here, I'll be right ba-"

Danarius's eyes snapped open and he leapt from his chair.

"_No!_"

Before she could even comprehend what was happening, Emma was on the floor. She hit the fur rug with a grunt, pinned down by the heavy lump of despair that was Danarius. Emma struggled against his weight, feeling a tinge of fear for the first time since she'd entered the room. Maybe this hadn't been the best idea. Although, one thing could be made for certain from this night: the man wasn't in his right mind and the strangling really _hadn't _been intentional.

"You're crushing me-" Emma groaned. "I can't breathe."

The magister's voice was muffled against her neck. "I love you. Please," he whispered and hot air caressed her skin. "Don't ever leave."

"I couldn't... if I wanted to," she wheezed, writhing beneath him. "Get off!"

"I can feel it, I promise."

"Ugh," Emma shoved her hands against his chest, but he didn't move an inch. "Feel what?"

She stilled her fighting when she heard the beautiful sound of Danarius's study being opened.

A cough of surprise.

"I'll come back later."

"Demetri!" Emma cried, recognizing the airy voice. "Get him off of me. He's-delirious with a fever- and I can't-"

The blood mage laughed, the sound drawing nearer with his approach.

He rested upon his knees beside her head, bending low. His face appeared within view, blond curls dripping into his eyes. Along with an infuriating grin. Emma discovered he had dimples. Evil dimples.

"Have dinner with me," he replied, "and I will."

Emma's eyes widened at the blatant display of horridness. She wanted to punch him, but, well, that wasn't possible at the moment. Lucky for him. "Forget it," she grunted instead, beginning her struggle anew.

"Ah, well, I suppose you're stuck, then."

Danarius was still chanting his strange mantra, but his voice was growing quieter and quieter. He was falling asleep! Emma could scarcely bear the weight for a minute longer, let alone until he awoke.

"Fine!" she hissed through clenched teeth. "Just get him off of me!"

"Gladly," Demetri smiled, lifting a hand before himself. He curled a finger and Danarius was gone. Emma winced as she heard a crash just behind her.

"Gently!" she cried, scrambling to her feet and rushing to the crumpled magister. "The man is sick."

"You don't know the half of it," Demetri chuckled. "Here-move. I'll take him to his chambers."

"No more magic," Emma demanded as she lifted an arm between them. "You carry him."

"Yes, alright," Demetri sighed, pushing up his sleeves. "Move."

Emma reluctantly left Danarius's side and watched the Archon's son bend to collect him in his arms.

"Where's the lyrium lout when you need him?" Demetri grunted as he struggled to his feet. "Damn, he's hot as blazes."

"Yes, let's hurry," Emma said quickly, holding her open hands out behind them.

"I got him," Demetri assured her. He jutted his chin toward the door. "Get that for me."

Emma hurried to open it, holding the door against the wall with one arm while she watched their exit. She winced a second time when Danarius's head met with its wooden frame.

"That was on purpose!" she cried. Emma could hear the smile in his voice as he passed.

"No, of course not."

She scowled and joined his side as they climbed up the stairs. Emma wanted to relish in Demetri's struggle, but the man seemed fully capable and at ease with his load. Her scowl deepened at the lost opportunity to belittle him. And deeper still when she remembered her agreement to share a meal with him.

Sod it all.

vVv


	46. A necessary detour

vVv

Emma held open the bedroom door and pointed inside for the blood mage to see. "Lay him there," she instructed as she dipped just behind him. Her hands were poised beneath Danarius's head to help prevent any more "accidents".

Demetri snorted as he crossed the room with Danarius limp in his arms. "Where?" he cried in mock disbelief, "On the _bed_?" He dumped the sickly magister against the mattress, smacking his hands in finality. Danarius grunted softly at the disturbance before turning his head into the warmth of his pillow.

Emma scowled at Demetri's impertinence, bending to retrieve the washbowl that sat upon an end table. Collecting a fresh cloth in her hands, she soaked up the cool water in its fabric and promptly rung it out.

She turned to find the Archon's son frowning at her hands in thought. Emma paused, glancing down at her wet fingers to see what could have drawn his attention.

"You're helping him," Demetri stated, raising a brow, as if realizing it for the first time. His gaze was still fixated on her hands. "Why?"

"'Why'?" Emma folded the cloth in two and gently pressed it against the magister's head. His breath was ragged and distorted with mucus, resulting in a soft gurgle. Sweat beaded above his lip, though his teeth chattered like the air was frigid. "Why not?" Heaving a sigh at his sorry state, Emma set to disrobing the magister so that she could wipe away his sweat and put on his sleepwear.

Watching Emma yank away the thick fabric, Demetri snorted in disgust.

"Because he is your master."

She rolled her eyes at that and reached for the cool rag, wiping away at the magister's chest and stomach.

"Look at you, mopping up his sweat like a…like a...," he motioned an impatient hand toward her task. "Like a-"

"Decent human being?" Emma assisted with a final swipe of the cloth. She began to pull away at the robes completely, frowning at Danarius's temperature beneath her hands.

"Like a doting housewife," he finished with a fold of his arms.

Emma grabbed a fresh set of sleepwear and set to pulling the magister up by his limp arms so that she could dress him. "Well," Emma grunted. "I _will_ be his wife."

Demetri made a strange sound. Something between a cough and a growl. When Emma fixed a startled glance at him, his cold eyes glared with an unsettling intensity, his jaw clenched tight.

His lips were rigid around the word, "Perhaps."

Emma frowned at the implied possibility of otherwise. She glanced back to the magister, back to his fragile state. Body and mind, he was ailing. Perhaps they won't be married by the week's end. Perhaps it will be delayed. Perhaps it will be cancelled altogether. Her frown deepened at the idea. She hadn't considered it in all the chaos.

"Our meal together," Demetri began and Emma turned to find him still tense, fingers curled into fists upon his knees, "It will be tomorrow."

She wrinkled her nose at the reminder. Another night in which she must look upon those contradicting dimples.

"I don't understand why you are so determined to share a meal with me." A hint of suspicion crept into her voice as she narrowed her eyes, "You're not thinking of poisoning me, are you?"

Demetri's lips twitched as if he might smile, but instead his furrowed brow deepened and he grit his teeth. "You need not eat, if you wish. Just be alone with me."

_Just be alone with me._ Well, that didn't make Emma feel uneasy at all. Why was he being so persistent?

Emma sighed and shook her head. "No, Demetri," she reached a hand to wipe at her tired eyes. "You never said anything about us being _alone_ together."

"I thought it was obvious."

Emma half-smiled at his feigned ignorance.

"You understand why that is entirely impossible."

Demetri raised an indignant brow, "I do not."

She rolled her eyes and finished arranging the magister's sleepwear. "You don't recall attempting to drown me in the baths?" she glanced at him, keeping her expression neutral as she tied Danarius's sash around his waist.

The blood mage was staring at her blankly.

vVv

He did.

It had been so disturbing. The thought of Danarius becoming Archon instead of him. The thought of a man who married slaves, dressing them in silks as if they were the finest ladies of Tevinter...becoming Archon instead of him.

The dancing, the smiling, the laughing. How could he allow her to participate in such things? How could he let her call him by his name and not his proper title? She ran amuck in the house, like an animal, free from its cage. A loyal mabari. His bitch to impregnate.

And their spawn would take the throne. Dirty blood would rule his father's country. And Demetri would watch the madness, powerless to stop it. Soon, slaves would be freed, elves would have rights. Who knew? Maybe even one day, blood magic would be banned like in all the other uncivilized countries. Like _her _country.

The idea made him livid. And then he spoke to her. She addressed him by his given name, as if they were equals. She defied him like he was nothing. A loathsome servant. Not son of the most powerful man in Tevinter, dying or no. She spoke to his sister like they were capable of being friends, like she wasn't leagues below. And, most of all, she was beautiful, which mocked his inability to drag her to his chambers.

He was reminded of... she was so much like...

Demetri hated her. He wanted to stop the foolishness before it became even more unreasonable. So…

He cast a simple spell, watched her eyes droop closed, watched the hands that swept along her golden skin slow and then slip into the water. He watched her body hunch and disappear into the scented froth.

When he left the baths, heart racing at the knowledge of what he had just done, he saw him. The elf thattrailed Danarius's step. He carried towels and a change of clothes in his arms.

Demetri was not disgusted at the elf's intent to bathe in the same water he had. He was not outraged by the idea of an elven slave enjoying warm water and luxurious lathers. He didn't even care that the elf was wearing an expression of pure hatred, unmasked. The disrespect was entirely lost on him.

Instead, Demetri felt a numbing relief upon seeing his face. So much that he nearly began to weep, knees shaking with the promise of buckling beneath him. Such violent relief.

The elf would go inside and save the girl before her life ended. Thank the maker for that.

As he turned the corner, eyes wide and brimming with tears, he realized that he would have gone back if the elf had not been there. He would have fished her out of the bath and drained the water from her body. He would have acted without thinking.

The elf had begun to scream her name, crying out for help in Arcanum. Demetri winced at the sound, but he knew that she would be alright.

And when they took her to Danarius's chambers, prompting her to rest, Demetri knew he would be there when she awoke.

"_Slave girl..." _

"_...You're a pretty one, I'll admit."_

Demetri continued to stare blankly at Emma, blinking around a memory.

vVv

_His mother smiled, tiny cracks opening around her eyes. He could see the dimples that they shared forming in her cheeks._

_They were sitting on the edge of the court, watching children play beneath the hot sun. _

"_They're just like us, Dem."_

_He frowned, eyes following the feet that shuffled in the dirt. Kicking at a ball. _

"_I'm not like them."_

_Dirty, hungry, poor. He wasn't like them at all._

_One boy tripped over a crack in the earth, sprawling in a mess of limbs and loose dust. The boy spit out the dirt that coated his teeth before pulling himself back onto his hind quarters. He tugged his knee to his chest and examined the graze that spanned the skin, wiping away at tiny rocks and specks of blood. _

_His mother's voice held a smile._

"_You both bleed when you take a tumble," she murmured. "That's one thing. You both have hair on your heads. That's another. You _have _heads, for that matter. Arms, legs, fingers and toes. You play ball the very same way, kicking it this way and that. You both smile when you score points."_

_His mother continued to list on the things that they both did and shared. All the while, Demetri watched the boy who shook away the pain in his knee and leapt to his feet. He joined the other slave children, dirt still caked in his smile. _

_He interrupted his mother's list, small voice filled with a contempt that wasn't his. A contempt that he inherited from his country. A racism that had nothing to do with him._

"_I don't have ears like knives."_

_His mother sighed, "No." She collected his body with a tired groan and sat him in her lap. "You don't have pointed ears." His mother traced the line of Demetri's round ear, tugging at its end with a second sigh. "Sometimes, I wish you didn't have ears at all. Then you wouldn't have to hear the madness around you."_

_Demetri frowned at the image of him without ears before bursting into laughter. _

vVv

"If I was ever going to try that again, I would have done it by now."

Emma raised a brow at the crude statement. It didn't make her feel much better, but it was true. Demetri's face was hard as he leaned in to be heard, voice enunciating each syllable as if it might help her to understand it better.

"I won't kill you, Emma."

Emma stared at him in surprise before stifling a giggle behind her fingers.

Somehow, the words rang true. The desperate plea in his eyes spoke volumes. Although, she did note that harm itself had not been included in his promise. Still, it was more than she had expected from the blood mage since the attack in the baths. "I am much obliged," she smiled beneath her hand.

Demetri's mouth twitched at Emma's response to such a heavy vow, lips pulling in the threat of a smile.

Just then, the door burst open and in walked one furious elf.

He drank in the scene with wild eyes before settling them on Demetri's.

"Get out," he growled, voice shaking in anger.

Demetri opened his mouth to retort at the elf's impudence, but closed it after receiving a prompt kick to the leg from Emma. She eyed him warningly, head inclining toward the door. The archon's son glowered as he rose from the bed and crossed the room, clearly resisting the urge to shove the elf on his way past.

Demetri turned back with a smirk and Emma bit her lip as he dug her deeper into her grave.

"I'll see you tomorrow night."

The door clicked closed, leaving Emma alone to face the elf's wrath.

"Tomorrow night?"

Fenris was breathing slowly, chest rising and falling beneath his thin tunic. His hair was dripping and his skin was flushed from the heat of the baths. If he hadn't seemed so angry, Emma might have taken the time to admire him more. The only thing she could focus on were his tight eyes and jumping jaw.

The silence began to buzz into a sound that grew louder by the second. Emma shrank smaller and smaller beneath the elf's intense glare, not knowing what he expected from her. She fidgeted with a loose string in her dress, eyes shifting from him to her busy fingers. Finally, she realized that Fenris was waiting from some sort of explanation.

"I took a small detour," she admitted, forcing her eyes to meet his. "Only because it was necessary. Danarius-"

"Cave," Fenris spoke quietly, eyes flashing with fury. "Now."

Without another word, he crossed the room and disappeared inside the bathing chamber, leaving the door open for her to follow.

Emma sighed and shuffled to join him.

vVv

The very moment Emma's heel made contact with the wet rockbed, Fenris grabbed her by the wrist and thrust her all the way inside. He closed the door behind her after taking one final look at Danarius's condition, to be sure that they would not be disturbed. The magister must have looked exceptionally ill, because the elf swiftly slammed the door, a loud bang echoing throughout the cave walls.

Fenris turned, eyes glinting in moon rays that streamed down from the cave's opening. He folded his arms against his chest and waiting again for her to speak.

Emma squared her shoulders and raised her chin, refusing to seem as though the elf intimidated her. Though, in actually, she was swallowing back the dryness in her throat. He was very intimidating, indeed.

"As I said," she spoke evenly, "I took a necessary detour."

The elf stared at her, arms tense against his chest. He worked the muscles in his jaw as he tensed them over and over. In an apparent effort to calm himself.

"Even if we hadn't agreed that you would take _no_ detours, necessary or otherwise, you would still be an idiot."

Emma's eyes widened at the bite in his tone, cheeks heating upon being spoken to like a child.

"Do you know why?" Fenris asked with a mocking tilt of his head.

Emma glowered at him, mirroring his arms as she folded her own against her chest. Chewing the inside wall of her cheek, she waited for the elf to speak as he had done.

"Because you would still be alone in a room with two men who have tried to kill you." Fenris began to pace in a short line, running an impatient hand through white locks. His eyes implored Emma's, as if he might find the answers written there. "Am I wrong to doubt your intelligence? Is that not something a complete imbecile would do? Do you like danger? Is that why you came here in the first place-?"

Emma had to interrupt him, voice rising in anger to meet his.

"You know exactly why I came here," she snapped, pointing a finger to herself. "I was protecting my family. And nothing happened-"

Fenris stopped his pacing, still staring her hard in the eyes.

"What happened, Emma?"

She was too irritated to sweeten the facts. Too offended to ease his nerves.

"Danarius had another panic attack and Demetri had to help him off of me." Emma's voice was flat as she let the words fall with a wet slap against the rock. "In exchange for his assistance, I agreed to dine with him alone tomorrow evening."

By the end of Emma's sentence, Fenris was lunging for her. He growled with an animalistic rage, wrapping strong arms around her body. Emma felt her feet leave the ground and gasped in confusion. Before she could protest, she was in the air. In the air? And then…

_Kerplunshhhh!_

Roaring bubbles in her ears. Emma clawed at the water without thinking, mind reeling as she tried to determine what had happened. Her face broke the water's surface and she saw him standing at the bank's edge, fury having quieted to a simmering glare. His arms were back against his chest while he watched her sputter at the hot water that streamed out of her nose and mouth.

"_Fenris_-you-" she coughed around the water in her lungs. "You…!"

"I can't leave you alone for an hour, Emma," he murmured so softly that Emma was forced to still her flailing arms into a gentle wade. "Not one." He shook his head, sighing at his own burden. "You never fail to endanger yourself." Fenris let out a short, humorless laugh. "You even went so far as to make _plans _to put yourself in further danger tomorrow evening!" He fixed her with a cold glare. "You ignorant girl."

Emma snarled and swept an arm against the water, sending it splashing against the elf's looming form. He hissed in surprise and drew back, holding his arms out as he surveyed his now soaked clothes.

"_Fasta vaas,_" he barked as he lifted his eyes to hers. "I will make you regret that."

Emma rolled her eyes, though her heart stuttered a bit at the fierceness in his eyes. Perhaps she had made him angry enough. He _was _only concerned for her safety, after all. She glowered at the rippling water. But he didn't have to be so damn condescending about it! Scolding her like a child, she can't help but get angry and bite back.

She gasped in surprise when the water exploded before her, splashing her face and pouring into her open mouth. Coughing and wiping hurriedly at her eyes, Emma stared wildly about the room, turning in the water and searching every corner. The elf was nowhere to be seen, the cave an eerie quiet.

All at once, she was dragged beneath the water's depths, warmth enveloping her body. She realized that something was holding her arm in an iron grip and internally scowled in knowing that it was the damned elf. Emma flailed against his hold as an uncomfortable pressure settled in her chest. Though Fenris may have been playing games, punishing her, whatever, the girl needed to breathe. She clawed at his hand in a silent plea for release. The hand pushed her body upward, though it remained locked around her arm. Emma broke through the water and gulped at air, cursing the elf despite his inability to hear her. She inhaled deeply as she felt a harsh tug on her arm, just in time before the water was all around again. This is foolish, Emma thought angrily.

That's when she felt lips on hers. A strange sensation when there was wetness everywhere, and she could not feel the moisture on his lips. It was pleasant still in the dark waters. Of course it was. Her anger subsided immediately. Of course it did. And Emma found herself not regretting her decision to splash the elf one bit.

And, just like that, all was forgiven.

Emma wrapped her legs around him, pushing her tongue past his lips. It seemed as though the elf had not anticipated that, for she felt a mass of bubbles tickle her face as he exhaled. With a kick of his legs, the elf had them above water, resuming their kiss the moment he took another breath. Emma sighed against his mouth. He was kissing her again. It had been so long since he had displayed physical affection. Her only source of sexual intimacy was the fervent stares as they bathed in the presence of Danarius. As if reading her thoughts, Fenris panted against her mouth,

"I've wanted to touch you...in this chamber." His lips closed around hers and he gave a light suck at the flesh. "Watching you…" the elf bit Emma's lip, eliciting a gasp from her mouth, "has been torture."

"Then why didn't you?" Emma moaned, half in pleasure, half in exasperation. "Why didn't you touch me?"

Fenris's lips stilled against hers and he drew away, emerald eyes searching amber.

"This is not an easy adjustment for me," he admitted quietly, voice rough.

Emma nodded, eyes dropping to his lips. She could see a slight tremble to them. Was he frightened or excited? "I can understand that," she whispered. Emma lifted her gaze to his and frowned at what she saw in it. So it was fear, after all. "It is easy to forget," a slow, sheepish smile pulled at her lips, "when one is so eager."

Fenris chuckled and Emma watched a bright smile spread across his face.

"I tend to overread one's actions," she admitted with an embarrassed wrinkle of her nose, "or lack thereof."

"I have been made aware," Fenris laughed.

Emma smiled and a slow silence filled the space between them. Fenris was the one to break it. Emma realized for the hundredth time how much she enjoyed the sound of his voice. The low rumble was exaggerated inside the cave.

"Perhaps we could get you dried off…" he began, a serious note entering his tone, "and discuss the transpirings of tonight a bit more."

The human nodded in agreement.

"I've landed in a pile of shit, tonight."

"Have you ever landed any place else?"

"Not since I landed here."

vVv


	47. Hold my hand

_Reviews are largely appreciated. I love to read what you guys think, be it good or bad! Thank you for the follows and favorites, as well. Crazy to think that 110 people are tuning in to something I'm conjuring up in my head. Gives me the fuzzies and inspires me to keep going!_

vVv

Fenris leaned his head back against the couch cushion, heaving a worn sigh. After Emma had retold the night's events, he had been quiet for a long time. Breathing deeply with eyes that remained glued to the ceiling as he regained his patience. Emma waited for his anger to pass, pulling softly at her fingers. The more she thought about her actions, the more embarrassed she became. If the roles had been reversed-if Fenris had continued to put himself before danger-she too would be irate. She lifted her head at the tired sigh; the elf's first sound in fifteen minutes.

"I am relieved that you were unharmed during...," he glanced at the sleeping magister and dropped his voice just above a whisper. Even if Danarius was awake and listening, he would not be able to make out what was said over the crackling hum of the fire. "But you must…," He closed his eyes and held out a hand, motioning with each word to stress its importance, "...not be alone with Danarius whenever possible." Fenris opened his eyes, a pleading glint in the emerald. "Tonight, it was possible. You did not need to speak with him alone." He sighed at the look of shame on Emma's face, taking hold of her hand. "There is little time when I am not at his side. Please avoid him during those rare hours."

Emma nodded, murmuring an apology.

"I am also sorry," the elf spoke softly, stroking the skin of her palm. "For losing my temper." He gazed down at the flesh he was caressing. "I've found that when it comes to you, I have a difficult time being rational."

She smiled at the confession, liking very much that she was the cause for the cool elf's ungluing.

"And the other matter," he began, raising his chin with a furrowed brow. "You cannot be alone with Demetri."

"No," Emma agreed. "Lest I kill him."

Fenris smiled in spite of himself, but quickly returned to seriousness.

"I must be there," he continued gravely. "Or Larus, or one of our stronger elves, or…" Fenris narrowed his eyes in thought, idly trailing fingers along her wrist. Emma liked that it was subconscious. Just weeks ago, the elf would have never touched her without calculating every route it might take him. It seemed that his reluctance was nearly gone for a moment, even with his master sleeping just across the room. Though Emma knew his wariness would return on some level, she enjoyed seeing their slow progress. "I suppose his sister would do as a last resort," Fenris finally decided.

Emma's face cracked into a smile. "She is more than capable of subduing her brother."

Just then, a gentle knock at the door claimed their attention. Fenris left the couch to open it, quietly greeting the visitor as he held the door open for them to enter.

Larus crossed the room with hurried steps to Danarius's bedside, a bag of healing supplies in tow. He was wearing a very provoked expression as he turned the magister's wrist over in his hand. Emma left the couch to join at the healer's side, so that she might be of assistance. Larus tensed at her nearness, lips tightening into a thin line, and remained silent. Emma could have been over-reading again, but the healer seemed a bit cross.

"Might I be of any use?" Emma asked carefully.

"You could have been," Larus grumbled as he removed several potions from his bag. "Hours ago." He placed them on the bedside table, each with sharp smack. Emma glanced at Fenris with raised brows, who frowned in mutual confusion.

"What do you mean?"

Larus exhaled sharply and turned to glare at her.

"Why didn't you _send _for me?" he demanded in a hiss.

Emma balked, opening and closing her mouth to find the right words.

"I had to hear of Danarius's state, second hand, from Demetri. Demetri!" Larus stepped away to use the wash basin. Emma watched him angrily scrub away at his hands. "None of the others know I am a healer," He turned to glance back at her as he swept a towel over his fingers. "The little shit said it in passing, 'You're quite close with Danarius,'" Larus mimicked the light, airy tone rather well. "'Careful not to catch what he's got. Nasty state, he's in.' I came running as soon as his back was turned!"

"I'm so sorry," Emma spoke with wide eyes. Clearly, the situation was more serious than she had thought. It was wrong of her to do anything else before she knew he was taken care of. "I hadn't realized he was in any immediate danger and I thought you might be in bed."

"Well," Larus sputtered, waving his hands about in the air before him, "he _isn't _in danger. But, if he _was_\- just call me next time," he snapped. "No matter the time. First thing."

"Yes, alright," Emma agreed with a vigorous nod of her head. She tried to ignore the small tinge of annoyance in the back of her mind. First Demetri, then Fenris, and now Larus...who else would lecture on how to behave before the night is through? She sighed around the promise, "I will."

Larus's face softened at her swift compliance, turning to face her completely. He took her hand in both of his, gripping it firmly and bending to meet her eyes. "If it had been you, Emma," Larus murmured, shaking their hands, "Danarius would have roused the entire house to see to your needs." He glanced down at the hands containing hers, voice quieting into a whisper. "I know that you are not...I know this hasn't exactly been ideal for you." Larus raised his head, "But he is trying-" he squinted and nodded his head with a frown, "in his own, strange way-... to make you happy."

Emma nodded, not sure what to say to that. Thankfully, the healer didn't expect any sort of response, for he immediately released her and set to slipping potion after potion past the magister's lips.

She tried to think of something new to say. Emma found that she did not like the healer being disappointed in her after having grown rather fond of him.

"Demetri was actually quite a help to Danarius," Emma spoke with a shy smile. "Both directly and indirectly."

Larus raised a brow as he poised his hands about the magister's chest, a faint glow beginning to ignite his fingertips. "How so?"

"Ah," Emma's smile broadened at the memory. Danarius's head settled against the younger man's chest, who cradled him as one would a baby. "He carried Danarius from his study, all the way up to his chambers."

Larus cracked a toothy smile, pausing his spell to turn and face her.

"He did not," he laughed.

"Oh, yes, he did."

Larus shook his head in disbelief, still chuckling.

"I would empty my coinpurse to see that."

Emma nodded, "I feel very fortunate to have witnessed it."

The grinning healer turned back to his friend, muttering an incantation that set his hands alight with blue. Emma watched as Danarius's tight features slowly relaxed and his breathing cleared of that awful gurgle. Larus finished quickly, turning to wash his hands again in the basin.

"It would be best if you slept someplace else," Larus advised as he dried his hands, "until he's better and the sheets have been changed. We don't want you to catch what he's got. It is a pretty violent cold. Perhaps, the couch...or your previous chamber."

"Oh," Emma followed the healer as he walked to the door. "Alright."

Larus left, bidding both Emma and Fenris a good night.

Fenris settled onto the floor beside the couch, arms folded beneath his head. Emma scowled, having intended to sleep there herself before the damned elf beat her to it. She grabbed a cushion from the couch and insisted on Fenris to use it, at the very least. He rolled his eyes at her persistence after refusing several times and swiftly dipped the pillow beneath his head.

"Are you cold?" Emma whispered.

The elf rubbed his tired eyes and sighed. "I'm only a few feet away from the fire; I'm fine."

"Alright, alright," she held up her hands in defeat. "Fenris is one with the floor."

"Go to sleep, Emma. You'll want your beauty rest for tomorrow's date."

"Oh, shut up," she hissed, settling along the couch.

They listened to the gentle roar of the fire, sharing glances without words. Emma gathered the courage to make a request.

"Hold my hand."

Fenris raised his brows in surprise, eyes dropping to the arm that draped over the edge of the couch, fingers searching for his. He wordlessly gathered her hand in his, cold and sending shivers up her arm.

"You _are _cold," Emma complained with a squeeze of his hand. "Liar."

Fenris leaned up from the floor and stared at the sleeping Danarius for a long moment, verifying that he was just that. "I promise, I'm fine," he murmured distantly as he watched the magister's breathing. He fell back against the floor with a soft grunt and gripped tighter around her fingers.

Emma nestled into the couch cushions and closed her eyes as the elf began to stroke the skin of her hand with his thumb. She was happy that he was making more of an effort to be physical with her. It clearly made him sick with worry. For that, she savored those moments, lest the next be far from then.

Replaying their days alone in her mind-the gentle fall of the rain on windowpanes, filling the library with books' adventures, the softness of his lips on hers, the song that he played so sweetly and sadly- Emma drifted into sleep.

vVv

The chickens clucked in excitement as Thanron stood above them, tossing grain. He dazedly watched the bits of feed fall from his splayed fingers. Chickens clustered before him and bobbed about while they filled their bellies to bursting. It had begun to drizzle, a pleasant cool, rain that morning. Thanron liked to tend the animals in such weather. The others complained of the mud's thickening and the extra care needed to keep the animals content. But Thanron liked the feel of loose soil between his toes, that musky smell of wet hay, and the sounds of droplets hitting their barnhouse.

A particularly stout rooster pecked at his toe, mistaking it for a piece of grain. Thanron yelped and spilled the grain over the chickens, all of whom didn't seem to mind in the slightest.

"Maker sakes, Chops!" the elf snapped. "When're you gonna stop that?"

Chops gave him a passive crow of apology before continuing on to his breakfast. Thanron shook out the pain in his toe and bent to retrieve the now empty sack from the ground. He watched Chops waddle away to his favorite resting spot, a slab of softwood at the barn's entrance.

Thanron had allowed himself to form a connection with the animal, as he was one of the only birds who was safe from the slaughter. He needed to keep the chickens layin' babies, so the farmhands kept him around. Wasn't long before the bugger was stepping into laps and rubbing his fat head against legs like a cat. He was a corker, that one.

The others weren't as lucky. Depending on the kind of morning he was having, Thanron would dread killing a chicken. He liked to care for animals; keep 'em fat, dumb, and happy. Not kill them and serve them up for snooty nobles. Sure, Thanron liked meat as much as the next guy, but only when the animal was good and ready. What with the number of guests and their long stay, the farmhands have had to kill animals off before their time. One of the master's guests had requested suckling pig, a dish served with a 3 week old piglet who fed only on his mother's milk. Disgusting, in Thanron's opinion.

_Disgusting._

_Imraddon bends over another man, gripping hands around his waist as he-... thrusts._

How could he do that? Maker, the thought made him sick.

Thanron forced his attention to the flock as they pecked away and sized them all up, searching for the biggest and most mature of the bunch. He stepped over to one, a big brute of a female who often pecked at weaker chickens, and grabbed her by the neck. She fought his hold, beak searching for purchase of his skin. Thanron knew how to hold her so that she couldn't reach an inch of him with her beak or feet. He had to hold her hard by the neck and just below the middle of her knobby legs-

_Imraddon holding a man by the neck, fingers squeezing at the skin. He gently pushes him against the ground and keeps him there with the palm of his hand. The man beneath him gasps at his touch, clawing Imraddon's shoulders as the blonde elf dips his head below the man's navel and-_

Thanron hissed as the chicken scratched a curved claw along his arm. He snapped her neck in one swift motion, cursing himself for becoming distracted. The chickens prattled about in their obliviousness to the slaughter, trusting the man that fed them. Ignoring the lifeless corpse in his fist. Chickens were foolish creatures.

Only Chops seemed to notice from his softwood, crowing in disgust. He wouldn't hold it against Thanron, though. Wouldn't pass up the chance to sit his rump down on the elf's folded legs. He just thought it barbaric and tasteless, the killing of his fellow birds. Thanron didn't blame him for it.

Thanron snapped the second chicken's neck and carried the pair out of the barn. He knew Imraddon would be doing some of the early morning prep-work in the kitchens and that he would have to face him for the first time since last night.

And there he was when Thanron stepped through the kitchen's back door. His back was facing him as he chopped at a bushel of carrots, holding their joint middle with his hand.

_Holding his...with his hand…_

Maker, why couldn't he get those filthy images out of his mind? Sinful, was what it was. The maker had not intended for men to be together. Imraddon was an outright abomination.

Thanron's opinion on homosexuality was no secret to any of the elves in the house. Many of the mages, including Danarius, partook in the awful acts and involved an elf from time to time. Thanron himself received some attention. He had heard the nobles whispering about his small stature, that it would be-nice to...well, you get the point.

And that's not it. There was a boy. Before. An elf. Another one who loved him. Or, said so, anyway.

vVv

_Thanron stared at the broken glass in terror. Before the ball reduced it to a million bits, the glass had been a beautiful vase._

_ Rissthil whispered, "I told you."_

_ "You didn't," Thanron whispered back with wide eyes. He bent to touch a big shard of glass, "Playing catch inside was your idea."_

_ "But I told you to be careful," he insisted. His voice rattled and Thanron glanced up to find that the elf's eyes were brimming with tears._

"_Hey, now," Thanron grunted as he pushed himself back into a stand. "There's no need to cry, Riss. We'll just tell Tarma and she'll have it replaced, no problem." _

_Rissthil's lowered his head in a vain attempt to conceal his crying. His hands were balled into fists at his sides. _

"_The master won't notice," Thanron said gently. "But if he does, I'll take the fall."_

_The elf lifted his head and focused his big, round eyes on Thanron, bottom lip quivering as he swallowed back more tears._

_He sniffed. "You don't have to d-do that."_

_Thanron grinned and shoved his shoulder, "Ah, lemme be the hero. Ara'll think I'm cool."_

_Riss wrinkled his nose at that and a tear rolled down his cheek. Thanron frowned._

"_I think you're cool," Rissthil whispered shakily. "I think you're cool and I love you."_

vVv

After that, Thanron distanced himself from the boy. They had been friends, close friends. Thanron had felt betrayed by Rissthil, angry that he had to go and ruin a perfectly sound bond. A brotherhood, of sorts. They had shared a bed.

Imraddon had shared his bed.

Rissthil died a year later, thinking Thanron hated him.

He didn't hate him, he just-

He didn't know _how _he felt. It was disgusting.

vVv

"_I can't help it," Rissthill wailed as he clutched his cheek with a shaking palm. _

_Thanron was breathing heavily, fist clenching the fabric of the boy's robes, the other wound back for another strike. _

"_Yes, you can," he hissed. "You will. You'll stop that. Never touch me again."_

_The elf still felt where Rissthill's lips had met his. _

"_Never again," he spoke between tight lips. "Got it?" _

_ Rissthil stared at him a long moment before wincing as Thanron shook him by the collar._

_ "Got it?"_

_ The elf gave a weak nod. _

_ "Good. Now, get the hell outta my room."_

_ Rissthil left, hand still pressed against his reddening cheek._

"_Disgusting," Thanron whispered as he wiped the back of his hand across his mouth. "Disgusting."_

vVv

Aw, Riss. He had a hell of a throw, that guy.

Hell of a fighter, too. But he never raised a hand against Thanron.

vVv

Thanron watched Imraddon with wary eyes as he stepped deeper into the kitchens, preparing himself for the worst: Imraddon turning to talk about the previous night. His whole body was tensed in anticipation. He was ready to bolt, if worse came to worst. Ready to punch him square in the jaw.

But the elf made no move as Thanron dumped the chickens atop the counter, not even a flinch at the sudden noise. All that changed, was his ears. They had gone from a peachy kind of color to a bright, unmistakable red. Like the tomatoes he was then reaching for.

Thanron wiped his sweating palms against his pants and fled the room.

vVv

Imraddon let the knife fall from his hand to the wooden cutting board. His heart was ready to jump out of his chest. The elf braced one hand against the counter and ran the other through his pale locks.

"I am a fucking idiot."

Why in _Maker's name_ did he tell the little bugger?

Everything was fine as it was.

It was fine.

vVv

It was raining. No, it was pouring. And Danarius was snoring.

Emma yawned as she turned the page of her book and realized she hadn't paid attention to the last. She yawned again and snapped its cover shut. Leaning back against the couch and stretching her arms and legs before her, she lifted her head to give Fenris a sleepy smile. The elf sat on the couch opposite her, gazing out the window as he traced the lines of his arms.

"Reminds me," he murmured when he felt her stare on him. Emma blushed and knew exactly what he meant. It reminded her of those blissful days, too.

"Perhaps, it's a sign," she spoke softly. "More good memories to come."

The elf half-smiled at that.

"Does it often rain in Tevinter?"

The elf shook his head once, "Tevinter is a dry land. Only along the coast-here-is there really any rain." He frowned in thought. "Though it has been exceptionally wet this year."

"Hmm," Emma leaned forward and set her elbows upon her folded legs, resting her chin in her palm. "Do you like the rain? You asked me but you never said so yourself."

The elf's thoughtful frown deepened, dark brows pulling together as his eyes narrowed. It was as if he was trying to remember something and couldn't quite reach it.

"I think so," he said. "It makes me feel strange."

Emma straightened her back. "Strange?"

"Yes," he said slowly. "It is...I feel...," He turned her her, blinking away the cloudiness in his eyes. "Strange."

A hurried knock. Fenris rose from his seat to answer it. Demetri pushed past him and into the room.

The elf's voice was flat.

"The Archon's son would like to speak with you, mistress."

Emma scowled at the visitor, "Why, thank you, Fenris. Send him in."

Demetri rolled his eyes.

"I was thinking," he began quickly. Fenris made a face of astonishment behind him and Emma bit back a laugh. "I suppose I can understand why you might be a little uneasy with us...being alone together, since I tried to kill you."

Emma snorted and Fenris glared at the back of his head.

"It is entirely needless, but if you wish to bring a guard," Demetri inclined his head to glance at the elf, more than a touch of distaste on his face, before turning back to Emma with a sigh, "You may."

Fenris raised a brow. Emma mirrored his surprise, not having expected the direct offer.

Demetri shifted on his feet and seemed a bit uncomfortable beneath their intent gaze.

"Right," he said with a clearing of his throat. "That's that. Bring anyone you deem capable of the job," His eyes widened at the words after realizing the way they sounded. "Not-that they need to be capable. I just mean, if you pick a strong guard-you might feel-"

Emma held up a hand to stop his rambling.

"I appreciate the courtesy, Demetri," she spoke diplomatically. "I had expected to gain the privilege by force, so this makes it much easier."

"Right," he said again with a nod of his head. "That's that."

He turned abruptly, robes brushing against his legs, and hurried out of the room as quickly as he had entered. Fenris closed the door behind him with a chuckle.

"He's a git," Emma said in an exhale.

"Quite."

Fenris crossed the room to sit back down on the couch before her. Glancing at the sleeping magister, Fenris let out a tired sigh. "I want to be the one to watch over you," he muttered as he glared at Danarius. "But I need to be here when he wakes up."

Emma nodded in agreement.

"Imraddon is strong," Fenris said. "Take him. He will guard you well. He used to be one, in the past."

"Oh?" Emma frowned, thinking of the quiet elf's physique. It was very guardly. "I suppose I'll ask him if he can, then." She groaned softly. "It feels foolish, though. I don't need a babysitter."

Fenris released a sudden burst of laughter before clapping a hand against his mouth and peeking at the magister. Danarius coughed and rolled onto his side.

"Is something funny?" Emma glared at the elf.

Fenris nodded and clenched his eyes shut, shoulders quaking as he stifled his laughter behind closed fingers.

vVv


	48. Observing

vVv

"I can't wrap my head around this."

Demetri glanced at his sister, who sat on the edge of his bed with her hands beneath her thighs. She liked to do so when she felt the least bit ruffled. Now, as to why Demetri's plans were the cause of this ruffling, he knew not. He turned his attention back to the full length mirror, tugging at his curls. The mage pinched one blond curl between his fingers and pulled it past the tip of his nose. Scowling, he watched it spring back up upon release.

"It's simple," he grumbled. "I've invited the girl to dine with me."

The damned hair was relentless. Demetri had tried everything, it seemed, to tame the lion's mane. Heat, oils, even cosmetic potions. Nothing made a lick of difference. No matter what Demetri did, his hair stood in all directions. Wavy, curly, wild. As if he had just rolled out of bed, like a messy child. It did not suit him. He was a very collected, organized, professional man, as his mother and father raised him to be. Demetri enjoyed control, on all fronts. The fact that he couldn't manipulate his damned _hair _into neatness, angered him to no end. It screamed "I am a careless, reckless youth who neglects his responsibilities, as well as his grooming". Which, obviously, couldn't have been further from the truth.

"Yes, but…," Miri stared into his reflected eyes, dumbfounded, "_why_?"

Demetri straightened his robes. Too much fur. He looked like a werewolf. The mage stepped to his wardrobe and yanked open its doors. Silk might be better...no, too feminine. Velvet...? Too lavish. The girl already believed him to be a spoiled rich kid. He was, but there was no need to scream it through clothing. Hmm...leather?

"Hello?"

Demetri inclined his ear, "What?"

"I asked you a question! Why are you dining with Danarius's bride? Alone?"

He quickly turned back to the wardrobe. An electric shiver coursed through his body. Magic that wanted release. Demetri swallowed back his anger. The question was: why couldn't his sister keep her freckled nose out of his business?

"_Demetri_," she hissed.

The mage breathed slowly through his nose. His upper lip was twitching and his fingers tingled. He needed to breathe and focus on calming down. Mirima was not someone he wanted to hurt, no matter how annoying she could be.

Very well. If she was unable to let the matter rest, he would have to tell her what she expected to hear.

"I wish to know more about the slave. I am...suspicious of her."

"Suspicious how?"

"She…," Demetri stared up at the ceiling with folded arms. "...has manipulated Danarius into proposing, I think." He nodded his head once. "To be free from the shackles. Or perhaps, another motive."

Of course, he didn't believe it. She stumbled into her new life like game into a hunter's trap. Though she was not stupid, the girl hadn't the sense to outsmart someone like Danarius. Emma was the sort of girl who would have landed in such a situation, trying to do good of some kind. He would bet a good sum that she took the place of an elf or someone close to her. And that Danarius himself had initially no intention of owning the girl, let alone marrying her.

Demetri wondered if she regretted the heroic decision, assuming that was the case. If she cried at night, missing her family in Fereldon. If she counted the minutes of her enslavement. If she dreaded the looming marriage to Danarius so much that her fingers shook. If she had read Gosj. If she wanted to learn more about the world and the people in it. If she enjoyed the sound of birds in the morning. If she hated him. If she believed Mabaris to be the Maker's gift for lonely souls. If she still bit her lip when she thought of her father.

"I wish to learn more," he finished quietly.

That much was true.

"Hmm…," Mirima continued to stare at him with incredulous eyes. "It is still strange, dining alone."

"Is it so strange?" he asked. "Do you think she is will be as skeptical as you? Perhaps she would like something more open than my chamber."

He glanced at the elf who was hurriedly preparing a space for their meal before the fire. It was a handsome set-up thus far. Lace mats, Sedum flowers, napkins folded upon their porcelain plates.

The elf, a timid girl with quivering lips, glanced his direction to find him staring. Her eyes darted from her hands, which were frozen around the silverware she had been placing, to his. She flinched when he opened his palms, fear carving her features.

The elf's shoulders began to quake as she shrank beneath his gaze. She was unused to dealing with stranger nobles, he decided.

"Do you think I should dine outside with the girl?"

Her brow twitched in confusion.

"Lord Demetri," she spoke softly and slowly, as if calculating every word "Your highness, if it pleases you, yes. Only…"

Demetri gestured an impatient hand for her to continue.

"Well, it's raining."

Mirima laughed. Demetri flushed. He hadn't been paying attention to the weather. For the first time that day, he gazed out the window. It was, in fact, raining. Dark clouds hung overhead with the promise that it would remain that way for a while. The mage's eyes flashed with anger as he set them back on the elf.

"Do you think me an idiot?" he barked at her. "Of course, it's raining."

"I'm sorry, milord-" she stammered. "I meant no disrespect-"

"Shut up. Go arrange a place outside, under coverage, and I will overlook your insolence."

"Yes, milord," she nodded quickly, gathering the table's ornaments with hurried hands. She scrambled to the door with a shaky "right away" before disappearing behind it.

"Why outside?" Mirima inquired from the bed. "It _is _raining."

"She will be more comfortable, not confined to my private quarters."

His sister balked. "And you _care_ for her comfort?"

Demetri glared at her, the reply spoken through his teeth.

"It would be troublesome if the woman complained of her discomfort throughout my investigation."

Mirima frowned at that, though the shock in her eyes dimmed.

"Each time I think you might be…" she trailed off with a distant look on her face. "I don't know. This is so…"

"I am going to get her," Demetri said stiffly. The fur robes would have to suffice, he decided, as he slipped them back onto his body. He couldn't bare the interrogation any longer.

"Okay," Mirima answered with wary eyes. "Have fun, I suppose."

"I will not."

vVv

Thanron slowed his steps upon hearing his name. He turned about on his heels to find Fenris making strides to him.

"Oh," Thanron half-smiled with a brief lift of his hand, "Hey, Fen. How're you do-"

"Can you collect Imraddon for me?"

The smaller elf's smile fell with an audible smack against the marble.

"Send him to Danarius's room," Fenris continued quickly. "Tell him there is no danger, simply that Emma needs a guard while she dines."

Thanron paled. His heart began to do acrobats inside his chest.

"Why can't _you_ do it?" he asked, voice gruff. "M'a farmhand, not a bloody page-boy."

Fenris narrowed his eyes, as if seeing Thanron for the first time. He passed a thorough glance over his paling features, mind visibly making connections.

"Because," he finally spoke. Slowly, clearly. And a bit gentle. As if he were speaking to a misbehaving child. "I am needed upstairs."

The raven-haired elf's color returned in full when anger bubbled in his chest. He hated when Fenris adopted that authoritative tone. He sounded like Imra-...well, he sounded like a mother hen.

"And I'm needed outside," he snapped.

Raising a dark brow, Fenris's stare drifted from the defiant elf to the corridor that led to the kitchens. "Interesting," he murmured with distant eyes. "I had doubted this day's coming." He smirked, still staring down the far hall. "So be it. Off with you."

Thanron furrowed his brow and sped away before he could ask him any more favors. Especially ones to do with Imraddon.

vVv

Demetri paced in front of Emma's chamber, muttering greetings and brainstorming ways he could disguise his compliments by lacing insults into the words.

"You look beautiful," he spoke under his breath with an anxious glance at the door handle. "Erm...for a slave." Demetri stifled a groan and decided it better not to compliment her at all.

He took a long gulp of air, only to expel it onto his closed fist as he coughed uncomfortably. Finally, the mage stopped his nervous pacing and turned to face the door. He straightened his spine and squared his shoulders, forcing his face into an expression of bored calm. There. Okay. He lifted his chin before realizing it was too pompous and adopted a casual shrugging stand. Not too slouched. Right. Okay.

He knocked on the door.

And there she was.

She _was_...

Beautiful.

Not simply "for a slave", but for a woman, a human, and a creature of the maker.

vVv

Demetri stared down at her, that ever present frown on his face.

Emma observed with a smile that he was thoroughly clothed. If "noble" could be "rough" and "unkempt", Demetri would serve as a perfect example. While his demeanor exuded the most dense of arrogance, the wild nature of his appearance suggested him to be otherwise.

His robes were tattered in places, and crafted from the hide of a bale wolf whose fur resembled his own. Each were a pale yellow and needed a good combing, as they waved and curled without direction. A large top-layer, made from the thick, dark fur of brannen bear, accented the color and suited him rather well. Emma frowned. The mage wasn't unattractive by any stretch (physically, anyway), but he looked more likely to be raiding villages than inviting ladies to an evening supper.

Demetri, who had been rigid with discomfort beneath her intent gaze, glared and snapped, "What?"

Emma blinked, frown deepening.

"Good evening, Lord Demetri."

The mage grunted back a greeting before staring past her head and into the chamber. His mouth twitched as his eyes locked onto something. "Your elf is staring at me," he muttered. "He does it a lot."

Emma glanced back to find that Fenris was, indeed, staring. He stood erectly before the fire, greatsword hung on his back and tensed to attack upon the first sign of trouble. Emma shrugged as she turned back around.

"You do the same," she pointed out.

Demetri forcefully broke his gaze from the elf in a vain attempt to prove otherwise. "Is he to be joining us?" His voice dripped with aversion.

Emma's brows pulled together in confusion. "No," she said slowly, "Imraddon is."

Demetri peered back into the room again (whilst pointedly avoiding the elf's persistent stare), eyes searching. The sleeping Danarius and the brooding elf were its only occupants. Demetri sighed sharply in impatience. "And where is he? We must wait for a slave?"

"No," Emma corrected him with a defensive fold of her arms. "Imraddon is quite punctual, actually, and he is standing just behind you. Did you not see him when you arrived? He's been waiting there for the last ten minutes."

Demetri paled. Emma babbled on.

"I had told him to come inside, of course, but he and Fenris insisted that it would be best if he…"

vVv

He didn't want to turn around. He didn't want to turn around and meet the smirking eyes of an elf who had witnessed his...preparations before Emma's chamber. The pacing, the muttering. Demetri's eyes widened in horror. The practiced compliment! He had heard it all! The mage was mortified. How could he have been so absorbed in his nerves that he didn't notice?

Stifling a groan, Demetri slowly turned when his dark curiosity became too strong.

The slave was a handsome, tall elf. A blond, with stormy eyes. Strange colors for his kind. His muscles were thick about his arms and chest, bulging beneath brown robes. He had a hard jaw and a grim face; no need to have worried about "smirking eyes". Much more polite than the lyrium stuffed elf, this one kept his gaze focused on the ground before him. But like the other elf, his face gave way to not an ounce of fear.

"Does he sometimes serve dinner?" he asked Emma distantly.

"He's a helping hand in the kitchens, as well as a server, yes."

Demetri's voice was hopeful, "Is he deaf?" He turned back to Emma, silently praying.

She shook her head slowly with eyes that squinted around her confusion.

"Right," Demetri sighed. "Are you ready?"

Emma turned back to glance at her elf friend, "Um, yes," she said.

vVv

Emma smiled at him, eyes communicating that she would be fine. Fenris returned a weak smile and Emma knew that he would worry, regardless. Sighing, Emma stepped into the hall and shut the door behind her.

vVv

"Where are we going?" Emma asked as they crossed the main hall. She shivered.

The castle had grown quite cold from the rainy weather, the fires not yet warming the house's every crevice. The marble felt like ice beneath Emma's slippered feet and she bit her lip during their many steps against it. That said, when Demetri began to open the great entrance doors, Emma's mouth gaped in disbelief.

A chilly breeze slipped through the widening crack, ruffling her thin dress and caressing her flesh. Goosebumps rose along her skin as the cold seeped inside. Demetri was waiting expectantly, a palm braced against the door for her to pass through. Emma frowned at him. What was he thinking? A storm was coming! Curiosity rivaling reluctance, Emma folded her arms to trap what little warmth she had left and stepped outside.

Nessima, a timid elf girl who had recently begun her serving duties, waiting outside with a huge, green umbrella.

Demetri walked over and muttered something into her ear before snatching the umbrella from her shaking hands. Nessima bit her lip, eyes widening in fright, and hurried back inside the house.

Emma glared at the mage and tightened the fold of her arms as another cold breeze passed through.

"Why are you looking at me like that?"

"What did you say to her?" she demanded. "And why can't you be nice when people are only trying to _help_ you?"

Demetri rolled his eyes and stepped to her side.

"I simply told her that everything had better be satisfactory and dismissed her."

Emma's glare hardened and she threw her hands in the air, "The implied 'or else' is obvious! You scared her!"

"Here," Demetri grunted, holding out the umbrella to Imraddon, who accepted it with a furrowed brow. Like Emma, he had most likely expected the noble to use it on himself and Emma. A demand for Imraddon to join them underneath had already been sitting on her tongue. But instead, Demetri waved his hand, and the rain began to part way from his body above him.

Emma couldn't stifle her wonder. "A shield?" She watched the droplets move to either side of him as he turned to walk away. Such a strange man, Emma thought, so inconsistent with his own character. Perhaps, he was more complex than he seemed. But, then, perhaps not.

The pair followed closely behind, passing the pretty hoards of flowers that quivered as they were kissed with rain. In the far edge of the garden, where she and Fenris had sat to dine, was a large tent. It was positioned just under the thickest trees, so that only a few droplets here and there fell onto the cloth canopy. The three of them would be nice and dry.

Demetri parted the long curtain and stepped inside, motioning for them to join.

Emma gasped softly when they stepped through. Such a lovely arrangement!

The tent was a pleasant cream, warming the space with just its color alone. Torches were placed at each corner, far enough wedged into the ground that there would be no worry of hardy winds knocking them over. Emma stepped closer to the nearest torch and held out her hands, sighing in relief as the warmth spread through her body. The outside rain mixed in with the crackles and pops of the fire to create a hypnotic melody. She turned to study the tent more as Demetri busied himself with removing his thickest robes.

Flowers framed the tent's sides, creams and reds that added to the soft atmosphere. A glass table was set in the tent's middle and its round surface twinkled beautifully in the reflected candlelight. Upon each end of the table lay two covered dishes. Emma's mouth watered at the thought of what could lie underneath.

"This is beautiful," she sighed, finally voicing her thoughts aloud. "Perfect, really."

Demetri glanced up at her and nodded once. His eyes widened, as if seeing her for the first time. He wordlessly held out the robe he had just removed.

vVv

He was an idiot not to tell her that they would be eating _in the bloody rain. _Of course, she was freezing. Her dress was thin, as she had most likely expected them to be dining in his chambers. Demetri glared at her fingers, which were trembling slightly as she held them before the flames. He was so stupid! What a bad beginning to the evening.

When she didn't reach for the robe, he sighed and stepped to her side. He draped the robe over her shoulders and ignored the sounds of protest. Despite her discontent with the offering, she made no move to discard it. Her trembling almost immediately ceased and she seemed to suppress a sigh of relief. Demetri pinched the robe's edge and guided her to the seating. Pulling back her chair, he waited for her to rest herself in it. When she did-with wary eyes that did poorly to hide her surprise at his courtesy-, he scooted her chair forth before seating himself in the opposite end.

"So, that's it, then," Emma declared once they were situated, "the food is poisoned."

Demetri frowned, hand frozen where he had been gripping the lid to his meal.

"Why do you say that?"

"Well, you're being far too accommodating," she began, removing her own tray. Her eyes widened at the sight of the meal. "And everything is far too lovely," Emma's voice was distant. "I can't determine what other motivation you might have to do this."

Demetri felt a tinge of sadness, though he didn't understand why. When his sister had voiced more or less the same concerns, he had only grown angry with her distracting voice. The persistent nagging as his mind frenzied. But now, hearing the same implications, the same suspicions...from _her. _Strangely, it felt a bit...painful. His eyes narrowed as he studied her features. He didn't feel much like eating anymore, and his fingers slid away from the lid.

"'Motivation'", he echoed with a small grimace. "I have none." Demetri clenched his fist beneath the table. "None other than to observe you." To be near you.

Emma squinted at him, cocking her head to the side.

"Observe me?"

"I find you interesting, Emma," he sighed and ignored the tingle on his tongue caused by saying her name. "And this is a dull place."

"It can be," she agreed with a small nod. "But you aren't eating, which only doubles my belief that the food is poisoned."

Ah, if this went on any longer…

His chest contracted painfully. Did she really believe that he could possibly harm her again? Did she not understand the magnitude of regret he felt for attempting to...drown…? He propped his elbows on the table, knowing his mother was turning over in her grave as he did so, and dropped his head into his hands. All at once, he felt exhausted. "As I said last night, you needn't eat," he murmurred. "Though I would prefer you to." This whole thing was a bad idea. She hated him, anyway. And didn't he hate her in return? Why had he been so anticipating-?

He heard the sound of metal scraping and lifted his head to find Emma's fork dipping into her minced pie. Demetri's eyes widened at the sight of her lips closing around her fork, amber eyes doing the same as she relished the taste.

She hummed in pleasure, nodding her head at the decision to eat. "If I die from this, at least I will die eating the most delicious minced pie that has ever been baked." Still chewing the first bite, Emma stuffed her fork back deep into the pie before cramming more food in her mouth. She swallowed, without much thought to chewing, and reached for a bread roll.

Demetri glared.

"If you keep eating like a mabari, you may die yet."

She groaned around the pie, words distorted, "Wha' duh evruhone eep ayin' tha'?"

"Because it's true," he winced as she stuffed even more food in. "Honestly, woman, _chew _before you swallow, at the very least."

She swallowed and grimaced at the pain of it going down.

"What sort of holidays do the people of Tevinter celebrate?"

"Uh," Demetri blinked at the sudden shift in subject, "ahm, there's Maker's day…-"

"Oh," Emma clapped her hands in delight, "We have that one in Fereldon. We decorate trees-there's a huge number of them where we live, fat and healthy- with ribbons and ornaments, and we eat roasted turkey and pies and exchange gifts that most of us will spend all year making. I still have every gown my mother has made me back at home. What else is there?"

The blood mage stared at her with wide eyes. Was she always this way? He didn't dislike it, to his own surprise, but Maker, was she a child?

"There's Lovers day-"

"_Oh_," Emma moaned around a mouth of bread, closing her eyes. Demetri had to bite back a laugh. "I was always so jealous of the girls in my village, with all their lovers lining up, letters in tow. There was this one girl-named Mel-who had _every single_ boy writing her a letter asking to be her lover for the day." She pouted at the memory. "Even the boy I had hoped to write _me _a letter. James, was his name."

Demetri shook his head. James was a blighted idiot.

"What else?" Her eyes twinkled with curiosity, an idle smiling playing about her full lips.

"Ah-ahm," Demetri glanced down at his covered tray as his heart stuttered inside his chest. That was quite a face she made. "There's ah…" he swallowed thickly, "Hallow's night."

Emma grinned, "Do the people of Tevinter dress up, as well?"

Demetri opened his mouth to reply, but he wasn't fast enough.

"I was a blood mage last year," she smiled sheepishly, "No offense."

"None taken," he chuckled, unable to stop himself. "What does that look like?"

She blushed and bit her lip. "Dark robes, dark make-up, fake blood smattered all over."

Demetri nodded seriously, "It's an off day when I forget to dump blood on myself and wear black eye shadow."

Emma laughed. "Is there anything else?"

The mage's smile fell away. He dropped his eyes uncomfortably to his covered dish and reached a hand to lift it up. Yes, there was one more.

He could hear the frown in her voice, "What?"

"It's stupid," he waved a hand dismissively, not meeting her eyes, "a Tevinter thing." He lifted his fork and idly pushed a carrot into his salad.

"Try me," she insisted.

Sighing, he met her eyes. "You're not going to like it."

Emma's brow furrowed. "Try me," she said again, more quietly this time. As if a part of her knew what was coming, and didn't want to hear it said. "What is it?"

"Fool's day," Demetri began. "Each city, even the smallest villages, selects a fool who will go to Minrathous. There, each fool competes in a fight to the death in an arena, where the people of Tevinter watch. The winner is crowned as that year's Fool." He watched the horror engulf her features and felt a hint of shame for his country to have such a day. "For what it's worth," he murmured, "I never participated. My mother was a civil rights activist for elves and forbade it. She shed a little light on how barbaric the holiday was and so... after she died, my sister and I continued to ignore the day's celebrations." His eyes shifted uncomfortably back to his food. "I don't pretend to be...I have never respected elves, or spoke against slavery...like my mother, but- I don't think killing is a sport." Sometimes, he enjoyed inflicting harm. It cooled the hot anger in his head...but he hated himself for it. Killing was no game.

When Demetri lifted his eyes to Emma's, he had been expecting disgust and contempt. Instead, her eyes were full of warmth and her lips were pulled into a soft, sympathetic smile.

"Thank you."

Demetri frowned, a slow heat crawling up his neck.

"For what?"

"For not being as horrible as I had believed you to be."

The blood mage blinked at the statement before releasing a giddy chuckle, more of relief than humor.

"Anytime."

"I doubt that."

They laughed.

And they ate. They talked. And they observed, too.

vVv

"Mm…"

Fenris rose from the couch and crossed the room to Danarius's bedside. The magister's eyes began to flutter open as he reached out, fingers searching.

"Water," he croaked.

Fenris handed him the glass that he had already prepared.

Danarius drank greedily, a small string of water running down his chin. He pushed the glass back into the elf's hands when all the water had been drained. Grimacing, Danarius began to prop himself up on his elbows. Fenris quickly placed the glass onto the end table and set to assisting him up.

"How long have I been sleeping?"

"Since last night," Fenris replied. "It's been a full day, Master."

Danarius rubbed his eyes and yawned.

"Where is Emma?"

Fenris hesitated, hands stilling around the human. He drew away when Danarius was properly resting against the headboard.

"She is dining, Master." He prayed the magister would deem the short answer sufficient. If he prodded for details, Fenris feared what the outcome would be. For both he and Emma.

Danarius nodded and Fenris instantly felt relief soothe his tense gut.

"With the elves or the guests?"

Fenris clenched his hands into fists and bit the inside wall of his cheek.

"With a guest, Master."

Danarius glanced up at him, raising a peppered brow.

"Who, Fenris?" he spoke softly. "What are you hiding from me?"

Fenris felt the blood drain from his face.

"Demetri," he answered with tight lips. "Emma is dining with Demetri. Master."

Silence.

Then...

"And why would that be, my pet?"

vVv

_ Hoped you liked the chapter :) Please review and tell me what you think is going to happen next! It would be interesting and helpful to hear the reader's perspective right now._


	49. Prioritizing

vVv

"No," Demetri blushed about his neck and cheeks. He pinched a curl between his fingers and pulled it past his nose, letting it spring back up as he scrounged for the appropriate response. "There's nothing I can do about it."

"Have you tried-?"

"Yes."

"Well, maybe-"

"Already have. At least a dozen times." The mage sighed and shook tiredly at the wild locks. "No matter what I do, they remain the same."

Emma wrinkled her nose to fight back a smile. "It isn't as if it looks bad."

"Let's talk about something else," Demetri muttered, leaning back in his chair. He pushed at the table with both hands, so that his chair was balancing on its hind legs. There was something innocent and strange about it.

"Okay," Emma agreed with a small shove of her plate. Not a shred of meat, not even a smear of pudding, remained. "Let's talk about…" Her eyes fell to the hands that gripped at the table's edge. "Why is it…" She frowned in thought before glancing up at him, "...why is it exactly that you don't want to be Archon?"

Emma hadn't realized that Demetri's eyes were shining until they dimmed. All at once, he seemed drained. He stared into her eyes, but he seemed to be looking past them; to what only he could see. His features shifted into something unreadable as he placed his well-crafted mask upon them. The chair gave a small groan of relief as Demetri let it fall back on four legs.

His voice was heavy, lost of its natural airy sound.

"I am uncomfortable with the responsibility."

The response was rehearsed. Each word left his lips automatically, down to the last syllable. And Emma knew then that she was the millionth person to ask since he made the decision. She ignored the urge to prod him for details, even as countless questions struggled to push past her lips. Emma sensed something more behind his refusal to the throne. And more behind those eyes that stared through her. But she didn't want to pry in the way that so many others must have done before. So instead, she gave him her honest sympathy.

"I can't imagine how cumbersome the pressure has been," she sighed. "It must have been difficult, sticking to your decision, and despite everyone's expectations."

Demetri blinked, the haze clearing in the instant he did. Emma was surprised to find a touch of anger in his eyes.

"How can you say that?"

Emma stared blankly at him, words lost from her lips. Had she been tactless in her efforts to be just the opposite? Blazes.

"I'm sorry," she stammered, holding up a hand, "I meant no offense-"

He leaned closer, laying an arm against the edge of the table. Something Emma had never seen before burned behind his eyes. Was it anger?

"I had an opportunity to do something in this makerforsaken country and I chose not to."

His breathing had quickened, his cheeks had flushed, and his lips were shining as he licked them, struggling for words. Emma glanced down at his closed fist and saw that it was trembling.

"Everything wrong…," he continued, voice rising a bit over the thickening rain, "...everything corrupt...I could-..._do _something."

Emma suddenly identified the emotion that had taken hold of him. Passion. It burned hot in his breath, in his eyes. The icy orbs melted into oceans as he pushed more waves of words across the table.

"The reason for it all, Emma, I could be the one to stop it. Do you know what that means?" His brow furrowed and he flicked out a tongue to wet his lips again. "Do you know-...how...how _selfish_ that makes me?"

Emma opened her mouth, only to bite her lip. What was she to say to that?

"Don't tell me about what is difficult," he growled, curling his fist tighter against the table. "Don't tell me what is cumbersome. I refused difficulties. I refused to be encumbered with the needs of my people. I am a coward." His mouth shook around the words, "Don't tell me that it has been hard."

The last sentence hung in the air, and made the silence deafening. Quiet even with the popping flames, the constant smattering of water on leaves and cobblestone, and the distant rumble that grew closer with each exhale.

vVv

_"Hey, knife ear, c'mere."_

_ Demetri winced and glanced up at his friend. Menan waved a hand at the frightened elf, gesturing for her to come closer. Something flashed in his other hand when a ray of sunlight struck its surface. A shard of glass. _

_ He knew what this meant. "Menan…" Demetri began uneasily. _

_ "Got to mark 'er as mine," he grunted. "Else she'll forget or someone'll try to make 'er 'is. Got to mark 'er so no one gets confused who she is."_

_ Any marking of the elf was entirely unnecessary, as she had flaming red hair and bright, green eyes. The most beautiful elf in the estate, by far. There was no mistaking who she was. But the older boy didn't mean it that way. He didn't mean her identity, her name. He meant his. He was going to carve his name into the girl's chest because _that _was who she was in his eyes; Menan's. _

"_Menan," Demetri spoke again. The cook's boy had taken a liking to the elf, and he was not dealing well with their parting. _

_ "Shut it," he hissed. His voice rose to address the elf girl who walked with small steps, round eyes dropping to the hand containing a glass shard. "I haven't got all day." The elf quickened her steps with a submissive bow of her head. Demetri felt sick. _

_ When the elf stood before them, Menan gave her a thorough inspection. His beady eyes roamed every inch of her body and he licked his lips, as if she were a tasty morsel. "You know what's coming," his spoke gruffly. "Open up those robes. Hurry, and I'll make it a clean mark."_

_ The elf paled, hands frozen at her sides. _

_ Menan revealed the glass shard in full, turning it over between fingers so that she could see its sharp edge. The elf's shaking fingers lifted to begin pulling away at her sash. She glanced at Demetri while in the act, and her eyes widened into green saucers. Seeing him for the first time. "Lord Demetri," she whispered pleadingly. He flinched at the sound of his name on her lips._

_ The elf was to be moved to stay with a new magister, who had paid a high price for their whole family; she, her brother, and their mother. By the week's end, they would be placed into a new home, and Menan's mark on the elf girl's breast would only upset her new magister. Demetri bit his lip at the thought of her receiving a beating for it. _

_ He stared up at Menan, pleading eyes mirroring the elf girl's. The words "don't do it" and "stop this" wouldn't part his lips. They would imply something that he could not bear for anyone to know. People would call him an elf lover, like his mother. It couldn't be further from the truth. He hated elves. They were the reason that his mother couldn't be out after dark, the reason she had to hide her face in the daylight, the reason she stayed up all hours of the night, brainstorming ways she could make it better...thus, making it worse. _

_But this was a nice elf, who caused no one any trouble. She kept her head down and finished her work quickly and efficiently. Demetri did not wish to see her harmed. _

"_Lord Demetri," she whispered again, words shaking. "Please."_

_He turned his head and then his body. And then he moved his feet in the opposite direction. To the west wing, where his family's sleeping quarters were. He gazed up at the window and found his mother staring down into the courtyard, a hand pressed over her mouth in horror. She disappeared from the window in a quick flash and Demetri knew she would be there in a moment. Screaming at Menan and smearing salves on the elf's carved chest. He didn't want to be there for that. Demetri ducked into the kitchens instead, so that he path didn't cross with his mother's. He ate a slice of fudge cake. _

_When he returned to that spot on the way to his chambers, the elf girl's blood shown in fat drops on the stone._

_Her name was not "Menan's", as the ignorant boy who had marked her believed. _

_It was Varania. _

vVv

Fenris heaved, dropping to his knees as he struggled for breath. He watched a string of saliva and blood ooze down from his lips, and quickly reached out a hand to stop it from reaching the Orlesian rug. Swallowing back the bile that had filled his mouth, Fenris kept his eyes trained on the lyrium lines of his hands. Watched the tendons bulge as they braced his entire weight from spilling onto the floor.

The elf winced in pain when Danarius grabbed him by his hair and thrust his head back to meet his cold eyes. They were still blue. At least, there was that. Things could have been much worse. His eyes could have been black.

"Why?" he repeated evenly. Fenris grit his teeth. The last time he had tried to answer that question, he had ended up with a hard kick to the intestines.

"They made a...deal," he grunted. It was painful to speak. "You were sick with a fever and…" He wisely left out the detail that he had performed another episode. "You had lost consciousness on top of her. She needed help to move you and that's when Demetri arrived. He agreed to help if they dined together."

Danarius stared at the elf's lips, a crease in his brow as he frowned in thought.

"Where were you during all of this?"

Fenris wanted to bow his head in shame, but the magister's grip was still tight around his hair.

"I was in the baths."

The hand left his hair only to strike him across the face. Fenris couldn't stop the specks of blood that marked the carpet then, and stared at them angrily.

"Priorities, Fenris," the magister scolded lightly, voice deceivingly calm. "First, protect my flower from men who have tried to kill her in the past, and _then_ wash up." His eyes searched the elf's and a small smile began to form about his lips. "Yes?"

"Yes, master."

"Right now, Fenris," he straightened, placing his hands on his hips. "I am prioritizing. Instead of fucking you with your blood as a lubricant _now_, I must first arrange a rescue for my flower. Because she matters more, see?" His smile widened. "Prioritizing."

Fenris swallowed back another mouthful of blood and bile.

"Now," Danarius clapped his hands once, "let's go get Emma."

vVv

They broke the silence together, in the exact same way.

"Demetri, I'm sorry-"

"I'm sorry, Emma-"

A hurried apology with sheepish smiles.

"Don't be," the mage spoke quietly, staring down at his hand. It had loosened from its tight grip as his anger ebbed away. "I did not mean to take my frustrations out on you." He frowned and brushed idle fingers against the table. "It is something of a sore topic. No one in my family likes to discuss it. Not my father, not my sister. And not me, most of all." He glanced up at her beneath the curls that fell into his eyes, apologies still written in the blue.

"I shouldn't have said anything," Emma murmured. She was embarrassed to have been so insensitive as to discuss such a personal affair. Yet, his strong reaction only strengthened her desire to learn more about it. "I truly am sorry."

"No." The small smile fell away from his face. "I'm glad that you did."

Emma frowned. He hadn't seemed glad when he was all but yelling at her across the table. And he outright said himself that he disliked the subject.

As if tuned in to her thoughts, Demetri answered the unspoken question.

"It helps. Only with you, it helps. I don't know why."

Another roll of thunder, deep and guttural as the rain fell harder. The trees and tent did well to protect them from getting wet or cold, but sounds did penetrate the cloth walls of their tent. Emma shivered as another crack of thunder struck the sky, sudden this time.

"Can I ask you a question, then?"

Demetri stiffened, but he assented with a single nod of his head.

"Why is it that you don't want to be Archon?"

At first, his brows raised at the repeated question, and his lips twitched in the way they did when he was provoked. But then, a slow smile warmed his face and he shook his head, relishing in a private joke. His face grew worn as he thought of a reply, but the soft smile remained intact.

"Because," he began after a time had passed, "I don't want the opportunity to free Tevinter's slaves. And I don't want to give rights to elves. But that is what needs doing, isn't it? That's everything wrong with Tevinter. Slavery and discrimination."

If Emma had expected any sort of answer from him, it had not been that. So brutally simple and ringing with truth.

"You don't want to disappoint your mother," she said softly. "Not after all her efforts."

"I don't want to disappoint my mother when she died for the cause," he nodded his head, staring dazedly at Emma again. Right through her eyes. What did he see there? "You're right. Because I don't want to help them. I am angry at the slaves for being weak, and needing people like my mother to risk their lives trying to liberate them." The smile was replaced with hardening eyes and tight lips. "Letting an entire country step on them, too cowardly to fight back."

vVv

"_Lord Demetri," Varania screamed at his retreating back. "Please!"_

"_Shut up, you, and stay still!"_

Why don't they fight back? Why must his mother die for them? Stupid animals. He hated them.

vVv

"But if I'm made Archon…I'll have to try, won't I? I'll have to do everything in my power to save their miserable lives. If I don't, I won't be able to live with myself. And if I do, Tevinter won't be able to live with me...and they'll see me killed. Just like my mother. Just like my foolish," Demetri's brow furrowed, "beautiful, wise, selfless mother."

Emma inhaled softly when a tear spilled down his cheek. She rose to a stand. The mage didn't seem to notice her, nor the tears that continued to stream down his face. Emma took slow steps until she was standing before him, watching the firelight gleam on his wet cheeks.

"You remind me of her," he whispered. "When I look at you, sometimes, I feel I am seeing her. At first, I hated you for it." He brought a shaking hand to cover his face, anguished eyes visible between his fingers. "But now, I'm choking on her memory through you. I want to change, but I'm too afraid. I'm afraid of my country and I'm afraid of myself. We're monsters."

Emma bent to wrap her arms around him as the sobs shook his frame. He cried into her neck and was lost for a moment in his sadness. She stroked his hair as she held him, murmuring soft assurances.

vVv

A tent. Lovely idea, a tent in the rain. Danarius doubted the lout comprised the arrangement himself. One of his slaves must have done the work. Still, very nice.

He approached the tent in quick strides, smiling at the light that poured through its opening. A nice touch, a nice touch. A fire's heat could provide comfort in any place it crackled from. Danarius was being outdone, indeed. He pushed apart the flaps and dipped inside, holding it open for Fenris to step through.

Ah, there she was; his flower. And seemingly unharmed, thank the Maker. He took in her form and observed that it was bent over his, with arms wrapped around his sides. The young man shook and the quick intakes of breath suggested that he was crying. Oh, Danarius understood, she was consoling him. Very cute. He wondered what had spurred the need for comforting. Perhaps, he would inquire on the matter later. But, first-

"_Thymos."_

The tent erupted on all sides and shreds of cloth rained from the skies.

Danarius grinned, drops of rain meeting his face.

"Time for Emma to retire for the evening. Excuse us, Demetri."

vVv

Emma shielded her eyes from the rain as she stared up at Danarius in shock. He was standing, arms tucked into the pockets of his robes. The magister was wearing an aloof smile that contrasted with the situation in a disturbing way. He did just blow up a bloody tent and nearly _killed Imraddon_. Something else was strange with him, but she couldn't figure out what.

"Sorry," he said with a small nod to the tall elf, who stared at him with wide eyes. "Didn't see you there, in the corner. You're a bit bloodied, might want to have La-" he gave Demetri a quick glance, before focusing back on the startled elf. "You might want to get checked out." He put extra emphasis on the "checked out" bit in an attempt to imply the healer's involvement.

Imraddon nodded slowly, and clasped a hand to his bleeding arm.

Emma glanced down at Demetri. He was staring up at her with narrowed eyes, asking a silent question:

_Is he always this way?_

She sighed, and gave him a light pat on the shoulder.

"See you later, I suppose."

"Yeah," Demetri returned slowly, "later."

Danarius's hand had emerged from his pocket to take hers, and she accepted it with another sigh. Emma shot a glance at Fenris as they passed him by and stopped in her tracks. He looked awful. Pale, bruised about the cheek, and lip split open. Blood streamed in tiny ribbons down his chin.

"Fen-ris…" She sputtered as the magister moved them along with a small tug of her arm. "What-?"

"Come along, Emma. We're getting wet and I'm ill, remember? I should be resting, not trouncing about in the rain."

She turned her head to gaze up at the magister and paused again at the sight of him. She found what had been strange earlier, what was off.

His normally pale blue eyes were black as pitch.

vVv

_This was a fun chapter to make! Thanks for giving me the means to write it through your support. _


	50. Hate blood

_I've been quite busy lately! We only have 4 people working at my job right now, so they're makin' me take a bunch more hours than I want or need. It makes me tired, and writing requires a surprising amount of gusto. Your encouragement helps me keep going, however :)_

vVv

Emma shielded her eyes from the rain as she stared up at Danarius in shock. He was standing, arms tucked into the pockets of his robes. The magister was wearing an aloof smile that contrasted with the situation in a disturbing way. He did just blow up a bloody tent and nearly _killed Imraddon_. Something else was strange with him, but she couldn't figure out what.

"Sorry," he said with a small nod to the tall elf, who stared at him with wide eyes. "Didn't see you there, in the corner. You're a bit bloodied, might want to have La-" he gave Demetri a quick glance, before focusing back on the startled elf. "You might want to get checked out." He put extra emphasis on the "checked out" bit in an attempt to imply the healer's involvement.

Imraddon nodded slowly, and clasped a hand to his bleeding arm.

Emma glanced down at Demetri. He was staring up at her with narrowed eyes, asking a silent question:

_Is he always this way?_

She sighed, and gave him a light pat on the shoulder.

"See you later, I suppose."

"Yeah," Demetri returned slowly, "later."

Danarius's hand had emerged from his pocket to take hers, and she accepted it with another sigh. Emma shot a glance at Fenris as they passed him by and stopped in her tracks. He looked awful. Pale, bruised about the cheek, and lip split open. Blood streamed in tiny ribbons down his chin.

"Fen-ris…" She sputtered as the magister moved them along with a small tug of her arm. "What-?"

"Come along, Emma. We're getting wet and I'm ill, remember? I should be resting, not trouncing about in the rain."

She turned her head to gaze up at the magister and paused again at the sight of him. She found what had been strange earlier; what was off.

His normally pale blue eyes were black as pitch.

vVv

"You'll have to be quicker than that, Emma."

Danarius squeezed her hand before bringing it to his lips for a chaste kiss. She felt his breath on her fingers as he murmured, "I am very angry and wish to rid away my tension upstairs."

Emma, who had been quietly seething and glaring at her feet, whirled around to fix the angry stare on him, instead.

"What is there to be angry about?" she demanded. "What need is there for your to harm Fenris? Imraddon?" Emma felt silly, holding his hand as she threw words at his face. Like a child arguing with her father as they crossed a busy road. She wrenched her hand away and crossed her arms tightly across her chest. The startled magister stared down at her folded arms, black eyes screwed up in bewilderment.

"Emma," Fenris mouthed behind him with a hard jaw, "Don't." She blinked at the fear in his eyes. His body was tense, as if bracing for impact.

Danarius continued to stare at the hand he had been holding as it poked out beneath her folded arms. A crease formed in his brow as he concentrated on the flesh, and the corners of his mouth began to turn down.

"'What is there to be angry about?'" the magister repeated in a daze. He cocked his head slightly, though his eyes remained glued to her hand. After a long, strained moment had passed, he raised his dark gaze back to her face.

"Tonight is not the night for your charming defiance, Emma." Danarius grimaced, fists trembling at his sides. He leaned his weight from foot to foot and shivered. "I am doing everything within my power to keep my promise, to keep it from hurting you, but you are not…" Danarius inhaled slowly through his nose, lids slipping closed as he finished his sentence, "...making this...easy."

Emma had opened her lips to ask what he meant by "it", but the warning glare from Fenris sealed her mouth shut. Danarius noted her restraint, though he was oblivious to the elf's aid.

"Thank you for holding your tongue," he whispered with a weak smile. He shivered again. "It also helps when I touch you," he held out his hand with pleading eyes, "So, please…"

Emma frowned at his strained features, the tremor to his fingers as he reached for hers, and the frequent shivers that wracked his body. As if a phantom finger was running down his spine again and again. The look of pure fear in his eyes mirrored the elf's and prompted her to unfold her arms and slip cautious fingers into his. What were they so afraid of? Emma felt excluded from a dark secret.

The moment Emma's skin met with his, the magister's pained face slackened a little, and he released a soft sigh of relief. His grip was soft around her fingers, despite his desperate need for it; gentle. Loving.

vVv

Thanron rubbed weary eyes with the palm of one hand, leaning his weight against the pitchfork in his other. Sighing, he gripped the big fork and thrust it back into the remaining pile of hay. Loose pieces trickled down as he held it above his head and over the horse's stall.

"There y'go," he grunted, pulling the pitchfork away. "Y'big brute. Are y'a pig or a horse? Y'eat enough to be both." He gave the wooden door a pat. "Not gettin' anymore 'till tomorrow, so don't you be wolfin' it down." Thanron shook his head at the slow shuffling of hooves and the snaps of teeth that followed. "I'll be takin' youfor a long ride tomorrow to work that off, so keep it up." Thanron rested the fork against the stall and muttered, "I could use a ride."

Maybe the roaring wind in his ears would drown out his constant stream of thoughts. Ponderings that battled his brain all hours of the day. Tricked it into thinkin' things it shouldn't.

Thanron shook out his hair with hurried fingers and watched a few sticks of hay fall to the barn floor.

It was no different than Rissthil.

vVv

_Oh, Maker._

Imraddon kept his face even as he passed several guests on the way to the kitchens. His fingers were squeezed tight around the torn flesh of his arm. Ugh, sickening warmth between his fingers. Sticky and slick. Blood.

_Oh, Maker. _

The blond elf bit the inside wall of his cheek to quell the overwhelming urge to grimace. A damned grimace would do him some good. But, no, too many to see it. Especially when upturned noses became faces of concern as he delved into the elves' quarters. He didn't want any attention drawn to himself right then. Imraddon gave his friends curt nods to dismiss their unease and quickened his strides.

_It is going to be fine._

Something against his foot. A small pressure than lingered. He made the critical mistake of looking down. Drops of blood against his feet. He nearly glanced at his arm, but caught himself just in the knick of time, thrusting his chin up and forcing his gaze straight ahead.

_I am going to be fine._

His heartbeat became hard and fast, pumping blood more rapidly out of his wound.

_Oh, _Maker!

When the kitchens came into view, Imraddon broke into a run. He shoved the door open with his good arm and hurried inside.

Confined in the four walls with little flow of air, the scent rose to his nose; the acrid scent of blood. Salty and metallic. Imraddon tasted bile and felt the contents of his stomach rearrange themselves. He leaned his weight against the countertop, covering his untainted fingers over his nose and breathing deeply.

_Maker, he hated blood._

vVv

He had missed dinner and he was damned starving. Hopefully, there was some chicken left on the coals. He didn't want to have killed his good birds without tasting their meat.

Thanron hadn't missed dinner on purpose to avoid Imraddon. No, that would have been childish. The rain had just made a mess of work for him, that was all. Thanron was a man. He didn't hide.

The elf groaned as he gripped the barn door's latch and yanked it down, closing the animals inside its warmth and dry. He turned on his heels and cursed in Arcanum as they slid in the mud, forcing him to brace a hand against the loose ground. Straightening, he sighed and swiped his dirty hand against his trousers as he walked toward the kitchen's back entrance. Even though it was only ten yards away, by the time Thanron reached the door, he was soaked through and through. His body trembled as he opened the door with numb fingers and hurriedly dipped inside.

"What in Maker's name-?" he murmured. For standing in the room's center, vomiting into the wash bin and gripping its edges with bloodied hands, was Imraddon. His face was pale and sheened with sweat, violent shivers wracking his body between wretches. Thanron stepped closer, dazed features deepening with concern. "What's wrong? Why're your hands-?" Imraddon's gray eyes flitted up to Thanron from his bent position, half-lidded and unseeing. The smaller elf took another step. "What's happened?"

Imraddon's eyes snapped the rest of the way open as his mind focused on the young man before him. He forced himself straight up, wiping the back of his hand against his mouth. Thanron noticed that his lashes were flecked with tears, that slid down his cheeks. His gaze was then drawn to the redness that tainted the blond elf's flesh and robes. It flowed from beneath the sleeve of his robes, marking the floor with drops of blood. "What happened to you?" Thanron repeated, staring at the blood soaked cloth. Imraddon seemed to forget himself for a moment and followed Thanron's gaze to his bloodied arm. A horrified disgust marked his features before his knees gave out from beneath him. Thanron leapt to grip his body before it could crash against the kitchen floor, but his poor position and, well, _smaller frame_, only allowed him to lighten the fall. He grunted as his knees hit the floor, wincing at the pain. Imraddon was moaning broken phrases he couldn't quite make out. It sounded like he said "hey, bud," but it could have also been "hate blood". Yes, that one made more sense with the situation.

"Why're you bleeding?" Thanron asked with a bit more bite, growing a little anxious. He knelt before the slouched elf and grabbed his arm, pulling the robe's sleeve up to reveal his injury. Thanron peered at a relatively deep gash, bending forward on his knees to examine it closely. He was careful not to touch the wound with his muddy fingers as he moved the arm this way and that. It wasn't so bad. Just a lot of blood. It needed a thorough cleaning and a tight bind. He could ask the healer for something to ease Imraddon's pain and close the wound faster. Thanron glanced up at the elf, who had brought a shaking hand to his cover his nose. He was breathing deeply, eyes closed as he concentrated on the task of what Thanron supposed to be avoiding his blood's scent.

"Don't like the stuff, do ya?" Thanron spoke gruffly, focusing back on the wound. "I'll get it cleaned up for ya, seein' as you haven't the stomach."

"Mm," Imraddon nodded, hand still pressed against his face. "Thank you," he whispered from beneath his fingers. The elf opened his eyes, embarrassment in their depths.

"Mm," Thanron returned, unsure of how else to respond. He pushed the hunched elf against the counterwall so his back could rest, and pulled himself to his feet. After dumping the soiled wash basin outside, Thanron gave his hands a good washing, soaping them up twice so as not to infect the wound. He grabbed some needle and thread from the junk drawer and sterilized its point with soap. Last, he filled a bowl with hot water and dropped some clean rags into its hollow.

Thanron knelt back down before Imraddon and pulled the sleeve further up his bloodied arm arm. "This'll hurt," he muttered, hand closing around one of the wet rags. "Ready?"

Imraddon nodded once, squeezing his eyes back shut. Thanron slowly pressed the rag against the gash and the lout's eyes opened into saucers. He jerked his arm away with a small whimper and Thanron sighed. "Needs a cleanin', Imra-..." For some reason, it felt strange to say his name. He stopped short, shaking his head around the thought. Not now. Thanron gently pulled the elf's arm back to him. "Try to be still." Imraddon nodded again, cheeks flushing with more embarrassment. The color was strange to the younger elf. For some reason, it was oddly refreshing to see him uncomfortable. It had always been, hadn't it? Strange.

"How'd it happen?" Thanron asked as he laid the rag back down upon his arm. Imraddon flinched, but forced his arm to stay in Thanron's grip.

"Danarius lost his temper," Imraddon began with clenched teeth, letting his hand fall away from his mouth and nose. Thanron had frowned at the words, a curl of fear in his stomach. He focused on the task before him and waited for the elf to continue. "Emma had dined with Arathea's attacker and he seemed to fear for her safety, I think. But I didn't understand," Imraddon winced as Thanron pressed fresh heat against his wound. "He was kind. Not at all the man I...I mean, I suppose...well, he doesn't like elves, but I can't really blame him. His mother protected our people and died for it. She-"

Thanron growled in impatience as the anxiety spread to his chest. Why had Imraddon been hurt? "I don't care about that sodding noble," he snapped. "_Or _'is mum, Maker rest 'er soul. Get to the part where Danarius hurts you." Imraddon blinked in surprise.

"It was an accident. He hadn't seen me when he blew up the tent-"

Thanron paused, glaring and sputtering, "What-blew up the..- what?"

The elf's brow furrowed, a touch of anger in his voice. Imraddon was returning to himself as the blood disappeared more and more.

"Look, I'm fine. I just don't like bl-...blood. And I can tell by your reaction that it isn't serious."

Thanron thought about scaring him in his annoyance by saying that it _was _bad. But that seemed immature and frankly cruel, given his sensitivity to the subject. Why was he becoming so upset, anyway?

"I don't want you to avoid me."

Thanron's fingers paused around the sudden words. He turned his head up to stare at Imraddon, heart beating hard in his chest. The elf's face was hard and soft at the same time. Sad and grim.

"I'm sorry for what I said," he spoke softly. "It was selfish. After Rissthil-"

"Shut up."

Thanron was staring at him, eyes empty of the hundreds of thoughts buzzing around in his head. His eyes gave way to nothing he felt.

Imraddon's frown deepened and he dropped his gaze to the bloodied rag pressed against his arm. He didn't react to it this time, but for a paling of his skin.

"I'm sorry," he whispered again. He lifted his eyes back to Thanron. The sadness was contained; only steel was left. "I will not burden you with my feelings a second time."

A silence. Uncomfortable and strained.

"Good," Thanron finally replied. He paused, afraid to ask a question that had been bothering him for a while. Thanron pushed it passed his lips in an exhale. "Does this mean you'll be wantin' your brushes back?"

Imraddon stared at him in surprise before bursting into loud laughs. Thanron slowly smiled at the sight, a color rising to his cheeks from being the reason for his amusement. Was what he said funny? Thanron had been rather worried about it.

"You're an idiot," the blond elf laughed.

Thanron's smile widened, glad for some release of tension. But he didn't know what to make of Imraddon's response.

"Is that a no...or…?"

A fresh wave of laughs wracked Imraddon's body.

vVv

"Emma, Emma, Emma."

Danarius placed a palm against her chest, guiding her backwards with slow steps. Emma flinched when her back was met with the wall. She glared up at the black eyes, masking fear with her anger.

"What am I to do with you?"

"Danarius-"

The magister pressed his hand firmly against her mouth.

"Don't- be…" he narrowed his eyes, glancing at the spot of wall above her head as he searched for the word, "stupid. For tonight. Hm? You'll get hurt." Danarius frowned sadly, but it looked strange with the foreign eyes. "I don't want that. Really, I don't. It would hurt me more."

Emma scowled as fear rose in her chest. She glanced at Fenris and her fear became a throbbing ache inside her.

He was slumped on the couch with his head in his hands. The elf never lost composure before the magister. He always stood...before the fire and- he...always looked at her.

"I have to take you, Emma," Danarius spoke, as if with regret. "Before anyone else does. You must understand. You are mine, after all." He cupped a palm to her face, swiping a thumb along her cheek. "Don't cry."

Emma bit her lip, staring at the elf. Why didn't he look at her? Her shoulders began to quake and her breath became shallow as the fear worsened still. She did cry.

"We love you," Danarius whispered, resting his brow against hers. His voice was strange. Deep and throaty. Not smooth as it always was. Like another man's voice. "We love you so much."

vVv

_Mature content in the next chapter, so be warned._

_Thank you for reading :) Tell me your fears and desires regarding what will happen next! It's so fun to read._

**_In answer to questions:_**

_Yes, Danarius has a demon living inside him called the Pull. It is responsible for his cruelty. His delirious mother summoned the Pull when he was a child in hopes that it would give him the strength he needed to become Archon (Chapters 44 and 45). This _is _like Anders and Justice. Except the Pull is much more frightening and Danarius is fighting it much harder than Anders did. Danarius does NOT want to be haunted by the Pull, but he knows there is no way to undo what has been done. So, he must live with it the best he can._


	51. Na Vanum

vVv

Fenris could scarcely breathe. His legs trembled, bouncing the balls of his feet against the Orlesian rug. The elf leaned his face into his hands, stifling a sob that threatened to overtake him. There was enough fear in his belly to dislodge its fillings. He wanted it to be him. Anyone at all, but her. Fenris would sooner throw Arathea at the magister's feet, than even think about him taking..._her._

Fenris could not peel the palms, sticky with cold sweat, from his face. Nor could he lift his head from its bent position to look at her. He couldn't move, apart from the tremors. His teeth began to chatter when her voice broke the guarded walls of his mind.

"Stop this."

Emma's voice shook. She was frightened. Fenris leaned back against the couch and moaned softly at the pain in his chest. All he wanted to do was kill. Kill the man who threatened her sanctity. The purity of her mind and body. Why didn't he do it? Where was this unending loyalty coming from; that he could watch his lover become defiled by a crazed man?

A shuffling of feet followed by a muffled cry. Fenris couldn't believe it was happening. Didn't he think it would, some day? Hadn't he prepared his mind? No. He, along with the others, had seen what the girl did to Danarius. How her very presence in a room calmed the demon within him. All of them had prayed she would be safe. He was so gentle with her, so different. Fenris watched with awe whenever his fingers gently trailed the skin of her cheek. Whenever his cold gaze melted into something almost warm upon seeing her. Emma had no idea how much restraint the magister underwent to protect her. But those eyes…

The magister's resolve had buckled beneath him.

Fenris knew that dining with Demetri had been a horrid idea. But who was to stop the girl when she decided upon something? She was as stubborn as sin.

A small crash made Fenris jolt and he dropped his hands away to look at the scene, regretting it instantly.

Danarius had trapped her wrists in his hands, pinning them to the wall behind her. Emma's eyes immediately locked with Fenris's the moment he looked up, alerting him to the fact that she had been staring at him for a while. Her lips trembled and her skin was lost of its golden hue. Danarius was bent over her, lips pressed against the pulsepoint of her throat. His knee was pushed forward, toward the wall, with the intention of pushing his thigh between her legs. But she squeezed them tightly together. She broke eye contact with Fenris as Danarius forced the legs apart with his knee, gasping as he ground his thigh against her sex. Tears began to stream down her face more heavily. When they trailed down her neck, Danarius licked them, following the path up to her mouth. She turned her head away when their lips made contact, a strangled whimper escaping her throat.

vVv

Fingers pulled at the fabric of her dress. Impatient snarls sounded at the base of her throat as they pulled more forcefully, tearing the silk away from her skin. Emma felt the cool air against her breasts and then her legs. She was naked against the magister, trembling from both the cold and her fear. Glancing at the ashy fireplace that was empty of its flame, Emma whispered, "I'm cold."

Danarius's eyes flitted to the bare logs, before grunting a quick, "Fenris."

Emma watched as Fenris opened his lips to respond, only managing a "M-mast…" before rising from the couch and dazedly kneeling before the fireplace. He grabbed a nearby candle and ignited the freshwood into glowing warmth. His head then turned face them, biting his injured lip and forcing more blood down his chin. Danarius's hand was rubbing the inside of her thighs, coaxing them apart. Emma kept them closed together.

"Stop fighting me," Danarius raised his head from her neck to meet their eyes. They were still black, though a bit less cold than before. As if the fire was beginning to warm his suddenly icy interior. And his voice was back to its velvety self. "Stop fighting, and this won't be unpleasant for either of us." His hand pushed between her legs, fingertips meeting the outside flesh of her womanhood. The magister's breath caught upon the contact, eyes melting further still. "I want you to enjoy this, too," he whispered.

"I won't," Emma bit back with a weak glare, "On my life, I won't. Not like this."

Danarius paused, features tightening with pain. Then something seemed to shift behind his eyes and he let out a soft snort. "Don't be so melodramatic, Emma." Her eyes widened at the sound of his voice. So strangely unfamiliar, the voice. It was gruff; hard. Not soft and sweet as it normally was. Almost as if a stranger were speaking through him. What was going on? One moment he was himself, and the next...someone else entirely. "It's sex. And you're to be my _wife_, for Maker's sake. It's my right to fuck you. Tevinter law, you can look it up when I'm done." He pushed his hand deeper, fingers beginning to push past the lips of her sex. Emma placed a hand on the magister's chest to cease him, attempting to add some strength to her voice.

"You promised me that you would never harm me again. Forcing yourself on me would be breaking that promise."

Danarius chuckled, narrowing his eyes and cocking his head to the side.

"That's all good and well," he touched his nose to hers, breath tickling her lips as he spoke, "but I didn't make that promise."

Emma frowned at the words, confusion slowing her reply.

"Yes...you did."

"No," he smiled, turning his head from side to side so that his nose brushed hers, "_I _didn't. Danarius did."

She pushed her hand harder against his chest when his fingers began to wiggle for further access to her. "Would you just-what are you talking about?"

"No, we aren't discussing this now," he sighed. "Just call me Vanum. Don't look at me like that. Play along and we'll explain later. I hate to be called Danarius."

"Vanum?" Emma repeated quietly, frowning.

"It is 'Pull' in your tongue," he grinned, "but it sounds better in mine. I am Na Vanum."

"'I am Na Vanum'," she mimicked his scratchy voice, but it lost its effect with her sniffling and shallow breaths. "Is that how Vanum sounds, then?"

"Yes," 'Vanum' answered, smile fading, "That's how I sound. Are you done asking questions?"

"If it means you're going to move your hand any further," Emma wrinkled her nose as tears coursed down her cheeks more heavily, "than _no_." Vanum flinched as her voice broke with the last word, but kept his fingers in place.

"This is foolish," he ground out, forcing his fingers the rest of the way. "You are ours to take."

Emma yelped when they slid past her lips and over the bundle of nerves beneath. Slowly, and soft. She clenched her teeth together and ignored the gradual swelling in her belly, the rolls of pleasure that became increasingly difficult to dismiss with each stroke of his fingers. "Danarius," she pleaded in a whisper. "I want you to stop."

"Vanum," he corrected her flatly. "_Vanum_. And I don't think you do."

"You can't just rape me and blame it on some alternate persona."

"Not 'persona'," the magister hissed. "I'm a person, too, Emma." He stopped his ministrations for a moment and squinted in thought. "Well," he decided, moving his fingers again, "at least I consider myself to be one. I realize it's debatable."

"What _are-_"

Vanum pressed a firm hand to her mouth.

"You're done speaking, love."

Emma stared up at him with wide eyes, breathing wetly beneath his fingers. She squeezed her eyes shut as he slipped the fingers inside of her. This didn't feel borderline pleasant; it was painful. Emma squirmed beneath him to angle herself in a way that might be more bearable, and Vanum seemed to mistake it for writhes of pleasure, thus prompting him to push his fingers faster and deeper into her walls. She hissed in pain when he added a second finger, and pushed her hand against his chest. Emma hated this.

vVv

Fenris paced the floor, breathing heavily and tangling fingers in his hair. With each glance he passed their way, Fenris was met with a roll of nausea upon watching her be violated. He wanted to do something. But what could he do without betraying his master and killing them both?

He had begun to draw nails up his arm, pressing hard into the lyrium markings. If she was feeling pain, he was going to feel it to. Until he could come up with a way to stop it.

His mind screamed,

_There is no way. You are his dog._

vVv

The pain was starting to dull, pushing the focus more toward Emma's humiliation. She laid her brow against the magister's chest. Not because she wanted comfort or had begun to enjoy it; but rather because she didn't want him to see her face while enduring something so degrading.

Suddenly, strong arms laced around her waist and beneath her knees, lifting her off the ground. Vanum carried her to the bed and dropped her down upon it. He undid his robes, staring at her body as he pulled it from his shoulders. Emma looked away when his flesh was revealed, a new wave of fear settling in the pit of her stomach. She focused on breathing evenly.

Emma had known this day would come: she wasn't entirely without mature sense. And though she disliked whenever her mind turned to the subject, the thought of joining bodies with the magister didn't entirely repulse her. Emma was not in love with the magister, but it was a lie to say she cared nothing for him. He had opened his very soul to her many times, baring all of himself in desperate hope that she would accept him. The man was in need of someone who would remain by his side. A friend, a mother. Someone to nurture him and ease his endless fears in the nights, so that he might rest. For now, he had decided that such a person was her.

Emma hadn't feared intimacy beyond the walls of embarrassment, knowing it would come and believing the magister to be a gentle man. But now, she feared him so much that her bones went rigid and her breathing shallowed. A sick throb of her heart as he knelt onto the bed, crawling over her body. This was not the man she had prepared her mind for. This was Vanum: a foreign man, who lacked Danarius's genteel. What made the magister produce this personality? Was he simply crazed?

If this was to happen, Emma wanted it to be with a man that cared for her, who would treat her with the tenderness she required in so distressing a situation. A more familiar man. Danarius was closer to meeting those needs than Vanum. Closer still was…

All at once, like a dam breaking, Emma began to heave broken sobs, reaching arms to cover her eyes. She cried so thoroughly that she was soon wracked with hiccuped breaths and moaning between sniffles.

Tender and familiar would be Fenris. She wanted Fenris to be the one. With him, there would be no embarrassment she couldn't ignore, and absolutely no fear. Emma wanted the elf to claim her innocence. It was something she had prized as a young lady, saving it like a precious gem to give to someone she deemed worthy. The elf was more than worthy: he was her love. And who better to make love with than a lover? Emma cried at the lost opportunity, at the shattered dream of a night with Fenris.

vVv

When she began to cry in earnest, so did he. His knees went weak and he crumpled to the floor in a broken heap. He attempted to silence his weeping by covering his mouth and biting his lip harder still. The pain in his markings, raked with his fingernails, and his mouth was nothing compared to the ache in his chest. To hear her in pain, to her the fear and sadness in her strangled cries murdered him. He felt that it was a fitting punishment to hear them. Fenris should never have let her dine with the blood mage. Now she was suffering and it was all his fault. He knew better. The elf wept against the Orlesian rug, marked with his blood, and hated himself more than he ever did before.

vVv

"Emma…" a soft voice murmured.

She felt gentle fingers pry at her arm, coaxing it away from her face. Blue eyes entered her blurred vision, full of a sadness as deep as oceans.

"You don't want this," Danarius whispered. And she knew it was him. He stroked the skin of her cheek with a trembling finger, features strained in effort.

"_No_," Emma wailed, reaching hands to grip his arms as she pled with him. "_Please, nuh-not yet. Not with Vanum._"

Danarius laid his head to the mattress beside hers, kissing her ear and murmuring sweet assurances. His body collapsed upon hers with a worn sigh. Emma felt his tense muscles relax against her and she didn't dare take a breath, despite the weight on her chest.

"Of course, not," he pressed his lips to her cheek, rolling his body to rest beside Emma's and pulling her to him. "No," Danarius stroked her hair, pushing it away from her face. "Not with him. I'm so sorry."

Emma felt an instant relief that pushed the sobs harder past her lips. She cried into his chest and felt grateful to have him back. He was a strange and, oftentimes, unnerving man; still Emma couldn't help but appreciate his true identity. Not after meeting Vanum.

"Go to sleep," he whispered. "Get some rest and forget this night."

"Yes," Emma sighed shakily between hitched cries. "Yes."

"Tomorrow is the big day," Danarius said softly, a smile in his voice. He sounded drained, weak, and already slipping into unconsciousness. As if the shift in identities had cost his body all of its energy. "You'll...need your...rest."

Emma's eyes widened and her weeping ceased.

How could she have forgotten? It was here, so soon?

The wedding.

vVv

"Get up," Emma whispered, staring at his slumped form. The elf had been resting against the couch from the floor, staring dazedly into the fire. He started upon hearing her voice, lifting wide eyes up to hers. They were red with old and new tears. Emma knelt and pressed her lips to his wet cheeks. "Get up," she repeated softly against his skin.

"Why?"

Emma bit her lip before pulling away. The elf's voice trembled with emotion and it pained her to hear it.

"There's something we must do before tomorrow hits."

She felt a tear tickle the skin of her cheek as it slid down.

Fenris let out a breath, face twisting in agony before he shielded it with a shaking palm.

"Come with me," Emma pleaded, fighting back more tears upon seeing his torment. "Please, I want it to be…" she flushed, unable to finish her sentence. "Before tomorrow night…" When Danarius, gentle or not, would want to consummate their marriage.

"Why?" he whispered beneath his hand, word breaking in his sadness.

Emma pulled gently at his arm, unable to stop the flow of tears.

"You know why," she whimpered, collecting his fingers in hers. "You know damned well why."

"I do not," his shoulders quaked, along with his words. "For it cannot be true after..._this_. This was all my-"

"Don't you dare start blaming yourself, elf," Emma growled. "Don't spew that nonsense. Not ever. Now, get up," she commanded him with a final tug of his arm, letting her fingers untangled from his limp ones. "Get up, because it _is _true."

The elf let out another sob, quieting it by pressing his hand harder to his mouth.

"I love you," Emma whispered. "I want it to be you."

Whatever had previously kept Fenris together came unhinged upon hearing the words. He leaned into her chest and gave way to his sadness, crying softly against her naked skin.

"We can give this one thing to ourselves. This night is ours."

vVv

_As always, thank you for reading. _


	52. I was dazzled

vVv

"_Fasta vass, _that hurts."

"Ah, don't be a baby."

Imraddon winced and bit his thumb. He stifled back yet another whimper of pain, knowing it would be met with a sharp sigh. His efforts were for not, however, because he glanced up to find Thanon glaring at him.

Imraddon sighed, "What?"

Thanron raised the bloody needle point, pinching it between red fingers. Imraddon's stomach gave a turn and he quickly tore his eyes away. "You keep movin' about so much, and I'll poke a vein! Keep still." Despite his biting tone, Thanron's fingers were ever gentle as they gripped his arm, prodding carefully at the torn flesh. Imraddon felt as though it could hurt a lot more than it did.

"You're rather good at this," he frowned, voicing his observation. He turned his head to watch the elf's concentrated face. "I suppose those pillows don't embroider themselves." The teasing felt rather uncomfortable on his tongue, since he couldn't draw the composure to accompany it with a smirk.

Thanron rolled his eyes. "When the animals have a go at one 'another, I've got to patch 'em up." He snorted, meeting Imraddon's gaze. "They complain less than you when I do."

The blonde elf began to make a face but the needle's sharp kiss wiped his expression clean. He closed his eyes and tried not to imagine anything fleshy or red.

"M'almost done," Thanron grunted, "y'er doin' well."

It was strange to hear the boys' gruff voice speak the small praise. Imraddon supposed he was trying to comfort him. Very strange. Andraste knew him to be a dreadful comforter. And yet, the simple words of encouragement quieted his wandering thoughts, and soothed his racing heart.

Several minutes passed in silence. Imraddon almost smiled as he watched Thanron's concentrated frown. Suddenly, the down turned lips parted.

"I still love Ara," Thanron spoke softly, ripping him rather cruelly from his moment.

He tried to keep the irritation out of his voice when he answered, "Right." Whatever it was, he needed to listen. He needed to try to be understanding. He wanted to be someone that Thanron felt safe enough to confide in.

"And she doesn't feel the same way," Thanron continued even more quietly. "She loves that human. But..."

Imraddon leaned forward to gauge his features, but the elf's head was lowered, dark hair masking his eyes.

"But that doesn't change how I feel. See?" Thanron raised his head, eyes imploring Imraddon's, willing him to make a connection.

Thanron continued, leaning closer with a hint of graveness in his speech. "She might not understand. But I feel the way I feel, don't I? Can't change it."

"Yes," Imraddon agreed slowly. An urgency was beginning to glint behind the other elf's eyes as they searched his.

"She might never love me, but I don't care, ain't it?" Thanron's brow furrowed and the words pushed past his lips more quickly. "I wouldn't want her to tell me to stop, ain't it?"

Imraddon shook his head, lost again. What was the oaf trying to tell him? He narrowed his eyes as he strained to understand. A frown had begun to pull down at the younger elf's lips. Thanron ran an agitated hand through his hair and then paused, before releasing a groan.

"Now yer blood's in m'hair!"

"You needed a bathing, anyway," Imraddon replied distantly. His eyes continued to search the elf's face. The boy was often easy to read. What was he saying?

vVv

"Emma…," Fenris sighed as she yanked him deeper into the bathing chamber. "This is not the time. With the Pull so present inside Danarius... this is dangerous beyond measure."

"I don't care, do you?"

"Yes, I do not wish death upon either of us."

The elf's eyes were still red from earlier tears, but their sadness was replaced with disapproval. Fenris was getting back to his lecturing self. He gently pulled his hand away from hers, backed away, and glanced about with tired eyes.

Emma glared at him, "Take your tunic off."

"No," Fenris spoke quietly, eyes firm.

"Take it off."

The elf glared back at her a moment, expression taut as his jaw jumped. Eyes never leaving hers, he pulled his tunic overhead and let it fall to the cave floor. Fenris folded his arms across his chest, staring expectantly now.

Emma didn't let her eyes fall to his skin, though the tan muscles begged for attention as they clenched tight below. She kept her gaze focused on his.

"Now," Emma swallowed, her heart deepening its beats. She tried to clear her throat, but the words were stuck there. "Now, the rest."

"Emma, you're shaking," Fenris flatly stated.

He had completely regained his cool composure and resembled a parent; indulging a child while they played pretend. Emma bit her lip as she felt a heat crawl up her neck.

"This isn't the time," Fenris said again, bringing a hand to rub against his brow.

"It will never be 'the time' for you and me, Fenris." Emma's voice was even, though barely above a whisper. "Not so long as we are his property."

The elf's features softened, a tinge of sadness returning to his eyes.

Emma took a step towards him, but Fenris flinched and stepped away.

"Emma."

"Fenris," she returned softly. Another step forward, followed by another step back. "Just...be with me."

Fenris gave a sharp shake of his head as he spoke in a growl, "I've told you, I can't."

Emma smiled at his frustration. There was bite in his words, but she could hear the want in their shadow; feel the heat radiating off of him; the slight flush to his cheeks.

He was an extraordinary creature. Immaculately built. Muscles gleaming as the bath steam coated his skin. Broad shoulders and long arms with veins snaking up the golden brown as he clenched his fists. Emma could watch that face forever. She loved the white locks that fell into those beautiful eyes. That thin crease between his dark brows whenever they furrowed. Emma curled her toes against the warm rocks before taking another step closer.

vVv

Fenris grimaced as he took another step, drawing his own foot back to maintain their distance. His heel met no purchase, and he swerved around to find the bath's edge. Turning to gaze back at the human, he cursed in Arcanum. Trapped. Perhaps he should grab the girl and throw her into the baths like the last time. A diversion. Then he could get the hell out and damn this night.

But Fenris wasn't certain if he would follow through with his plan after wrapping his arms around her body. If he _could_. He wanted her, immeasurably. And there she stood before him, naked in the bloody firelight, begging him to take her.

Emma was smiling at him, eyes twinkling like the candles that surrounded them. The golden orbs drew him in, drained him of willpower. He had never seen such eyes before her. Eyes like fire.

"I'm terrified of the dark."

Fenris blinked.

"Erm..."

"I hated sleeping in the pitch black those first couple nights in the servants' quarters." She bit her lip, a thick flush crawling up her cheeks and across her nose.

_Emma's chamber was on the far end of the long corridor, indeed segregated from the other rooms. Fenris wrenched the door open and stood beside it, waiting for her to enter. His bright green eyes gleamed, two orbs of light, in the darkness. Emma did not want to leave their glow, even as they glared at her in resentment. When she did not move, Fenris seized Emma's arm and thrust her inside, slamming the door shut with a ominous _bang.

"Then, in the middle of one dark night, I wake to find three candles on my bedside table."

Fenris felt himself heat, as well.

_Light filtered in through Emma's room as she opened her eyes. It was bright, unlike the glow of distant candles. She turned her head to find that three thick sticks of wax now rested on top of her cupboard. They sat in small bowls that caught any dripping substance. The flickering light from the candles was happy and carefree. Emma stared at them for a long time before falling into a much more fitful rest._

"It was you, wasn't it?" she grinned. Fenris felt a clenching in his chest.

The elf turned away, unable to meet her eyes. He bent his head and let his hair hide the embarrassment written on his face.

"You made a face when I opened the door to your chambers. You looked like a frightened little squirrell."

Emma laughed, "Thanks!"

"When I reached the end of the hall, I heard a small creak and found you poking your head out." A smile threatened to pull at Fenris's lips. "Opening the door a crack to let the hall light in." He gently toed the rock, the smile fading as he spoke, "The next night I found out that you had given all your food to the elves. And I had said that insensitive, stupid, childish comment just after."

"_Finished already?" he asked quietly. "You must have skipped the formalities of chewing."_

_Emma shoved past him and dashed to her chambers, face streaming tears._

"I felt like the biggest ass when I walked into the kitchens and saw everyone eating. The most some of them had eaten for a meal in their lives. I had to give you something in return. The candles were all I could think of."

The human took another small step forward.

"I thought you were an old man the first time I saw you, in the ceiling reflection."

Fenris released a surprised snort, meeting her eyes. She was suppressing a giggle between her fingers. "All I could see was your white hair. Oh, how wrong I was. You dazzled me, I was planted to the floor."

"I dazzled you?" Fenris laughed softly, raising a brow. "You had just been hit in the head with Danarius's magic. You were only dizzy."

"No," she smiled, "I was dazzled."

_Emma watched a man approach, with a head of pure white hair. She expected to turn her head to find a withered elder standing before her, but she was dead wrong. _

_The man was an elf and stunningly beautiful. Though his hair suggested old age, his features were young and striking. He gazed down at her, the contours of his face pulled into a glower. Emma stared back into his emerald eyes, inhaling sharply at their intensity and deciding she couldn't keep it up for long. This man was unnerving. Before looking away, Emma noticed a series of thick, white lines running down his chin and weaving about his arms. _

_Groaning softly, she rose into a wobbling stand. "You're Fenris?"_

"Though you were not so impressed with me," she sighed at the memory. "That first night, you were very...intense."

"_Are you deaf?" _

_Fenris whirled on his heels and strode to tower over her. He spoke with a severe clarity that suggested he believed his recipient to be very slow, indeed. "No, I am not deaf, though I crave the impairment in your presence." He spit the words out as if it burned his tongue to say them. The elf's green eyes were sharp and abundantly angry. Emma found it startlingly difficult to look into them, taking to glancing anywhere else at all. The white walls, the gold trim, the marbled floor. Her own fearful expression in the mirror. _

vVv

"Wrong," Fenris spoke with a cocking of his head. "I was equally, if not more, dazzled by you."

Emma scoffed, "Yes, alright. I'm sure I did with my tattered robes and my matted hair. Perhaps it was my 'deathly smell'?"

"I had never beheld such beauty in my life. You stole my breath upon first glance."

She swallowed at the words. His eyes were gleaming with conviction and she knew them to be true. Her heart began to hammer inside her chest.

"When did you begin to love me?" Emma whispered before biting her lip in wait.

Fenris chuckled at the inquiry, flushing again. He peered up through the cave's opening, where dark, thick clouds obscured the sky. Rain fell through its opening, splashing softly against the hot water.

"When I _truly_ began to love you or when I chose to admit it to myself?"

Emma replied, "Both," before re-trapping her lips between teeth.

"In that case, I began to love you when you shoved that cheese roll in my face."

Emma burst into laughter, and Fenris brought a finger to his lips, though he shook with laughter himself.

_Fenris was eyeing her expectantly as she approached with his food. He reached out a hand to accept it, lip curling into another blasted smirk. _

_ That was it. Emma couldn't take anymore of that stupid, revolting, bone curdling, smirking mouth anymore. She grabbed at Fenris's arm and thrust a hot roll into his mouth as it opened in protest. His eyes flashed dangerously as he leapt from the wall, making Emma gasp and wheel on her feet to flea. Fenris cursed in a foreign tongue, reaching a hand out to seize a fist full of Emma's retreating locks. She cried out, her scalp stinging sharply as she was tugged by the hair toward his body. _

_ "Sto-" As her mouth opened around the word, cheesy bread was pushed inside. She coughed and swallowed a hunk of bread, choking and sputtering. Emma stared at him as she hacked away, meeting his vehement stare with one of her own. _

_ "Why do you never chew?" Fenris snarled, pounding her back with a clenched fist. His other hand left her hair and brought a cup of water to her lips. Emma eagerly guzzled and the water immediately set to pushing the food down the rest of its path. The two stood before each other, eyes wild with anger, chests heaving._

"May I ask why?"

"It was the first time I lost my composure with someone. I felt safe with you, safe to be myself. Something that I never felt with anyone; not even the elves. I would never shove cheese in Tarma's face."

Emma laughed again before pressing, "And when you admitted it to yourself?"

"That night in the gardens. The surprise dinner you gave me beneath the stars. I felt like a woman being swept off her feet."

"_Oh, hi, Emma!"_

"_Hello, Thanron!"_

_Fenris turned his head to see her standing there and his heart nearly leapt from his chest. He took a staggering breath as he beheld her._

_She was like an angel, sent down from the Maker's kingdom to drag him down to hell where he belonged. Her dark hair flowed in sweeping curls that settled about her breasts. Her lips were pink and her eyes were darkened in a way that he didn't understand, but very much liked. _

_A dress of thin silk, white as the stars in the sky, clung to her body. The gentle fabric drooped at her arms, sat loosely at her shoulders, and held tight around everything else. It exaggerated her delicate curves. The smooth arch of her hips, the length of her legs, the roundness of her breasts; it was overwhelming. _

"_Over there, please," Emma lifted an olive hand to point ahead. "In the middle of the garden."_

_Fenris stood and hurried to Emma's side. He stared at her with raised brows as the elves set up a table for two. A candle was placed in the table's middle, burning its orange light. Two heaping plates were lowered to the wood with care, and Fenris's mouth immediately began to water. One plate was clearly meant for him, filled on all sides with steaming meat dumplings, sweet rolls of many kinds, and rich cheeses. Finally, a large bottle of Aggregio Pavari, not yet opened, was sat in the company of two glasses._

_For the second time that day, Emma cried "Tada!" with an opening of her arms._

_Maker...damn it all. _

_He loved her._

Emma smiled at the memory, pulling shyly at her fingers. "I fell in love with you when we danced for the first time."

_Emma was admiring the brilliant chandelier when she heard a rustling beside her. She turned her head to meet the intense green eyed gaze of a very handsome elf._

"_Fenris," she sighed with a smile, vaguely distressed by how relieved she felt to see his face. _

_Fenris nodded once, brows furrowed in his signature frown. "Emma."_

_ All at once, Fenris grabbed Emma's wrist and dragged her back to the dancers. The human protested in surprise, attempting to pull away from Fenris's firm grip and prompting him to tighten his fingers. _

_ "What are you-?"_

_ "Danarius has requested we dance."_

_ Emma searched the crowd of twirling mages for their master. "Whatever for?"_

_ "He enjoys it."_

_ Fenris came to a halt in the center floor, wrenching Emma by the arm to face him. He bent into a deep bow, raising his head to glare at her until she dipped into a clumsy curtsy. The elf's expression was inscrutable as his hand positioned at her waist, hovering just above the silk so that he was barely touching her. Fenris waited a moment, and sighed when she didn't move. He grabbed her arm and placed it on his shoulder before returning his hand to her waist._

_ With that, Fenris began to spin slowly, gracefully. He led completely, dipping his side as she followed suit. He lengthened their arms, stepping away from her body before pulling her back and curling an arm around her. _

_ "Spin," the elf commanded. Emma twirled out of their entanglement and her dress brushed against her legs. He continued to step and turn, his strides long and certain. Emma couldn't take her eyes off the elf's face. He was not concentrated, as if the dance were second nature, and his eyes roamed the room for another occupation. Emma studied his features, pleased to have the opportunity to gaze on in private. _

_She began at his nose, narrow and straight. Just like him, Emma smiled. His lips were a beige pink, a shade lighter than his golden skin. And it glowed, as golden as sand on a sunny beach, across his angular face. His white hair fell over dark brows and into his eyes. Emma's gaze lingered on these eyes that gleamed like emeralds in the candlelight. _

_ This man is beautiful. _

_ Her eyes then wandered to the strange markings that trailed from his lower lip, over his chin, and down his neck. They disappeared into his armor and Emma recalled their swirling, continuing across his chest and around his arms. She blushed when his eyes flashed down to meet her stare. He raised a brow in question and she scrambled for something to say. _

_ "Are you Dalish?" she decided on the markings, hoping it would provide as an explanation for her studious gaze. "Your tattoos are very inter-oh!"_

_ Fenris lifted Emma off the ground with two firm hands and twirled her before setting her down upon the floor. She swayed in his arms, feeling a bit dizzy._

_ "Your markings," Emma continued with pure interest. "Are they Dal-ah!"_

_The elf lifted Emma again with a twirl and plopped her back down on the marble. Emma's head was positively spinning now. When her eyes focused, she found Fenris glaring hard, face twisted in urgency._

_Emma grumbled, "Fine, forget my asking." Fenris grunted in what Emma perceived as sanction. _

_The music came to a close and Fenris slowly ceased his motions. Fenris bowed once more and left her side before she was given the chance to return a curtsy. Emma frowned at the loss of warmth, pulling thoughtfully at her fingertips._

This time, the elf took a step forward, closing the space between them.

Emma felt his warm breath in her ear,

"_Festis bei umo canavarum."_

before his mouth descended upon hers.

vVv

_I apologize for the late update. _

_To be honest, I had quite a difficult time figuring out a way to "set the mood" after all the chaos. But I liked the outcome. I decided that they needed to reflect (especially Fenris) on the reasons why they are in love, the reasons why they'd risk their lives to be together._

_That said, the next chapter is VERY MUCH rated M, so be warned. _

_ As always, thank you SO much for reviewing, following, and favoriting. Your thoughts and reflections greatly impact the events of the story. _


	53. I am yours

vVv

Fenris gently held her face against his. He pulled them apart only to gaze into Emma's eyes and plant a chaste kiss upon her cheek or brow. His fingers tangled in her hair, massaging her head and relishing in their closeness.

Fenris would be gentle. He would be the lover she needed tonight. Emma was right; nothing else mattered now. Not the consequences of their embrace, not the vows she would tomorrow share with Danarius and Na Vanum, not the rest of their lives. Nothing except the feel of her rose petal lips on his and the delicate arms that wrapped around his waist, pulling him closer.

His heart gave a leap with her every sigh. It bounded with each of the mewls that escaped her lips. And when she stared up at him with that childish grin, or giggled when his breath tickled her neck, he felt so powerfully besotted. Enamored. In love. With the foolish human girl named Emma.

Fenris could hear the smile in her voice as he bent to place a kiss along her jaw.

"You're trembling more than I am."

He glanced at the hands that had travelled down to rest upon her bare hips. His fingers shook as he drew soft circles against her skin.

"I suppose I am," Fenris rumbled with a flush.

Emma's voice became softer, a tinge of concern in the words, "Are you scared?"

"No," he returned against her neck. "I just...love you. It has consumed me."

The human's breath hitched, drawing Fenris to straighten himself and meet her eyes. The round ambers were widened in surprise, her lips parted as if to say something. No sound emerged.

Fenris began to ask with a frown, "Is something wro-"

"You've never said it outright like that."

Her chin began to quiver and she wrinkled her nose as tears formed in her eyes. A ritual he had come to recognize. Fenris lowered his head to kiss the tears just as they fell. It was like tasting her happiness as it poured out of her. Soaking in the elation.

"Say it again," she whispered. "Please."

The elf's stomach tightened with both emotion and arousal as he murmured the phrase into her ear, over and over. _I love you. Emma, I love you._

"More than the sky," he spoke gruffly against her lips. "More than the rain, more than the trees, more than sleep...more than hot cocoa. Though it is close behind."

Fenris trapped her laugh in his mouth, tasting happiness again.

"More than freedom."

Emma's giggles ceased. The elf straightened and pulled gently at her hair, drawing her head back so he could nibble at her throat.

"Fenris," she whimpered, voice quivering. He felt the vibrations upon his lips. "That's not-"

"I would rather be a slave, at your side, than a free man without you."

She released a quiet moan when the elf dragged the tip of his tongue against her throat. He glanced up at the sound to find her biting her lip, eyes fluttering closed. His member pulsed at the sight. She was the most bewitching creature.

"And me," she gasped as he repeated the ministrations, biting down on the flesh. "I would rather be here, with you, than anywhere else in the world."

He fell to his knees as they buckled beneath him. Maker, that was terrible yet wonderful to hear. Fenris pulled her down with him, gently resting her body against the warm stone. He hoped it seemed like he meant to do it.

Fenris stared at her body, sprawled out beneath him. Her arms rested at either side of her head with eyes gazing up at him. His own eyes travelled down the neck he had just claimed to her round breasts, gently heaving with each of her breaths. Then down to her stomach...then...to her thighs and legs.

"Why did you avoid looking at my netherbits?"

Fenris raised an amused brow, cracking a grin.

"Netherbits?"

Emma nodded, awaiting his response.

"I'm attempting to maintain composure," he explained with a lopsided smile. "I need to take things slowly. I don't want to attack you."

The human flushed, and he felt her thighs squeeze together beneath him before she answered with,

"What if I want to be attacked?"

Fenris's smile fell, wincing as a roll of pleasure travelled from the base of his stomach to the tip of his member.

He lowered his head, letting his hair obscure the blush he felt heating his face. Bracing a hand against the stone by her stomach, he muttered, "Don't say that."

"Why not?"

"You have never lain with a man," Fenris raised his head a bit to gauge her reaction. "It would be very painful if I was...rough." His blush deepened.

"How would you know?" Emma frowned. "I could be entirely experienced."

Fenris snorted and narrowed his eyes, "Not likely."

"Will you take your underthings off now?"

"No."

She began to pout, and the elf decided that the puckered lips needed a kiss. He braced both arms at either side of her stomach and bent to do so.

vVv

Fenris, Fenris, Fenris. It was all she could think when he kissed her. That and the sensations it elicited. He began to drag his tongue along the edge of her lip before trapping the flesh between his teeth. He kissed her deeply, lowering himself to his elbows and pressing their chests together.

She could feel the tip of his arousal brush against her thigh through his trousers, though Fenris didn't allow their hips to meet just yet. Fenris slipped his tongue past her lips and Emma grazed its edge with her own. The elf seemed to like it, growling softly into her mouth. She felt a stickiness against her thigh, where Fenris's clothed hips brushed here and there. And then more wetness between her thighs. She rubbed them together as he kissed her, craving a more direct touch upon her sex.

Fenris laid his hips upon hers, answering her silent prayers. Emma immediately rolled her body against his, feeling the slickness coat his underthings. Fenris jolted with a strangled sound, drawing himself up. She gazed at him with pleading eyes. He was breathing heavily, a deep flush to his skin.

"No," he spoke roughly, before shaking his head as if it might strengthen his own resolve.

She bit her lip in embarrassment, feeling the sting of rejection. It was humiliating to pull a move like that, only to be told "no" like a scolded child.

The elf rested his brow against hers, slipping warm breaths past her lips. His voice was strained as he spoke the word, "Slowly." Not rejection, Emma silently rejoiced.

"Sorry," she breathed. Lifting a trembling hand, "Might I t-touch…?"

Fenris tensed, a hitch in his breathing.

"That depends."

"On?"

"Where."

"Wherever I can," Emma replied, fighting back a smile. "Whatever is comfortable for you."

The elf released the breath he had been holding, answering in a shaky exhale, "You may."

Emma brought her fingers to rest against the skin of his arm.

"Here?"

"That is fine."

It was firm; bulbous with muscle in some places and lean in others. The skin was as smooth as silk where it wasn't puckered to form the lyrium roads. Emma gently dragged her fingers up its path, closing her eyes as she listened to the elf's slow breaths in her ear.

Just then, a fragment of memory leapt into Emma's mind and she quickly removed her hand from his skin.

"Does it hurt?" she whispered.

"Yes," Fenris rumbled. "Don't stop."

The words shot straight to her sex, as if he had touched her there. Taking a deep breath to steady herself, Emma returned her fingers to his flesh, drawing her nails softly up the roads. Fenris flinched every now and then when her fingertips crossed a sensitive spot. Slowly, Emma brought her fingers to his back, nails aimlessly travelling the vastly unknown.

Her fingers felt the raised flesh of many scars, apart from the lyrium markings. Emma would not spoil the mood by asking him of their origins and filling his mind with unpleasant thoughts. Besides, the elf was beginning to respond rather positively to her massage.

He breathed a bit less evenly into her neck, and had begun to plant kisses along the skin. Emma shivered when he drew a small circle into her neck with his tongue, digging her nails a bit deeper into his flesh. He responded with a soft bite to her throat. Emma sighed, curling her toes and gripping his shoulder to keep herself from lifted her hips to meet his. Fenris chuckled softly and braced an arm against the stone to draw himself up a little.

Emma looked at him then, biting her lip. When would she ever become accustomed to his beauty? How could so radiant a creature exist? Those eyes! Even if they weren't as vibrant as gems, true emeralds, they would still make her heart stumble. It was the studious stare, the intense calculations, the tangible lust. They were windows to the most passionate form of emotion she had ever seen or felt. Those eyes devoured her in a single glance, left her breathless and without reason. To be watched by those eyes all this time, Emma had become full to bursting with unrelenting need.

"_Fenris_."

The name left her lips in a whimper. It was a plea, a confession, a fear, and a desire all rolled in one. Fenris understood, ensnaring her lips. His kiss was not so gentle as before.

The kiss meandered down to the base of her throat, where it lingered to trace the length of her collar. The kiss then travelled down to her breasts, licking circles around the nipple before trapping it between teeth. Emma arched as Fenris sucked hard at the flesh, his unoccupied hand reaching to massage at her other breast. Emma whimpered in pleasure when the elf pinched her nipple between rolling fingers. He growled in lust when she pulled at his hair, dipping her fingers into the locks.

vVv

Needless to say, watching the human had been torture.

Having to sit idly by as the love of your miserable life lathered herself with soap and ran delicate hands all over her ungodly body...Maker. It was a miracle he could restrain himself. If you consider masturbating beneath the dark waters "restraint". Still, it was better than devouring the girl before his master, who would inevitably strike him dead. More than once, he weighed whether or not it would be worth it. Fenris had decided it would be, but that Emma would not appreciate him dying. In any case, that wasn't important now.

All that mattered was this. It was finally happening.

He was going to deflower Danarius's "flower". The term of affection always made him cringe. Emma was no flower. She wasn't a mortal thing like that. Something that died once it was snatched up. No, Emma was a song. Emma was love. Immortal. While that delirious man referred to her as his "flower" Fenris would be calling Emma his "love".

He kissed her sweet skin and relished in the taste of cocoa butter that had become Emma. When he reached her navel, Fenris gave it a soft kiss, swirling his tongue around its edge. He was rewarded with another scratching of his hair and mewl of pleasure. Now…

Fenris's lips reached her sex. He pressed a slow kiss to the closed lips, spreading them apart with his tongue. Emma gasped in surprise, legs jerking as she lifted herself on both elbows. She looked a bit afraid, though entirely aroused. If she bit her lip one more time...all hope for composure would be lost.

Emma flushed scarlet when Fenris placed a hand inside her inner thigh, coaxing her legs apart. His cock throbbed with need when she complied, slowly opening them to reveal herself. The act was utterly submissive; something he found he quite enjoyed from her.

Fenris then studied the object of his fantasies. Thoroughly. The pink lips were swollen, and glistening with her want. He pressed his mouth back against her sex, dipping his tongue inside. When his tongue found her clit, Fenris massaged it with his tongue. He alternated between slow, lazy licks to concentrated flicks. It wasn't long before Emma came undone beneath him. She choked on a sob of pleasure as her orgasm overcame her, pulling at his hair and arching her back. Fenris gently lapped her sex as she rode out her orgasm and whispered incoherent phrases.

vVv

Emma moaned softly, still holding him to herself. Her legs convulsed with each slow flick of his tongue. Her orgasm still lingered, a beautiful mess of tingling and rolling aches. Fenris remained between her legs and made no moves to change that.

"Can I do the same for you?" Emma whispered with heavy breaths. "Please."

She felt his smile against her sex.

"No."

Deciding to take control, Emma bent forward to stretched her arm and pull at the cloth of his trousers. The elf made a sound of surprise, somewhere between a hiss and a growl. She trapped her lip between her teeth, waiting for his consent to continue. But then,

vVv

Emma did the unthinkable. She bit her lip in that immortally arousing manner of hers. What happened next would be out of his hands. Fenris tried to play the part of the gentleman. Oh, well.

vVv

The elf crawled back up Emma's body to kiss her lips again. She could taste her desire on his tongue as he pushed it into her mouth.

A finger parted her sex again, rolling quick circles around her clit. Emma bucked, raising her hips to grind against the palm of Fenris's hand. Her breath hitched when he slowly lowered his finger to her opening. Ever so gently, he pushed it into her. He kept it still a moment so she could adapt to its presence. Emma quickly did, moving her hips to slide herself along it. Fenris let out a growly moan, deepening their kiss. He slid his finger in and out of her, while rubbing the bundle of nerves above with his thumb.

vVv

Fenris felt Emma's walls clench around his finger. So tight. It would be heaven itself inside her. He pumped his hand harder when he noticed her breathing quicken. Her eyes glazed over and a deep flush crawled up her neck. She brought a hand to massage her breast and Fenris nearly came at the sight. Then her walls squeezed even tighter around his finger as her orgasm hit. She moaned so loudly that Fenris had to clamp a hand against her mouth to stifle it.

"Emma," he sighed, feeling a tightness in his groin. It was beginning to grow uncomfortable, a dull ache settling in his gut. He needed release. "Are you…?"

"Yes," she panted beneath his hand. "Please. Take me."

Oh, Maker…thank you.

vVv

Fenris lowered his trousers and allowed his swollen member to spring out. It was beading with juice at the tip. Emma flushed scarlet when Fenris stroked himself once, feeling a throb between her legs when he closed his eyes. He stroked himself again. Slowly, with a firm grip. His lids fluttered open to gaze at her, hair drooping into those lusty eyes as he cocked his head to the side. Emma leaned up so that she was sitting before him. Fenris made a strangled sound when she bent forward to lap up the juices oozing from his member.

"Emm...ah…"

Emma moaned around his arousal upon hearing her name, contorted by his lust. She rolled her tongue around the head, not certain how to proceed from there. Perhaps she had been a bit too bold.

"I said…'no'," Fenris ground out, "rem-m...member?"

Emma slowly withdrew, biting her lip with cheeks heated in embarrassment.

The elf growled and grabbed both sides of her face, trapping her in a passionate kiss. He moved his lips against hers with firm need, tongue rolling around hers. Laying them back against the stone floor, Fenris parted her legs again.

"It will hurt at first-" he began.

"Just do it," Emma interrupted, leaning up to plant a quick kiss upon his lips. "Make love to me."

vVv

Fenris sealed his fate with a slow thrust. That was it. He defied his master in the most grave way. Discovery of this one movement of his hips would result in death. Not just any death. The most agonizing, horrendous death that Na Vanum could conjure up in their deranged head.

But Maker, was it worth it.

Emma's walls clenched the tip of his cock, as tight as a closed fist, while he slowly eased himself inside. She gasped as he entered, features contorting in pain. Fenris stopped completely, despite his body begging him otherwise, and planted soft kisses against her brow. When she placed a trembling hand to his hips and pulled, Fenris pushed further in. All at once, he felt something give and Emma cried out, biting her lip to silence herself. The elf pulsed inside of her, drawing upon every ounce of patience he could find within himself. There wasn't much left.

He drew his hips back and groaned at the slow friction. Her sex was slick with her want, tight as it was. Fenris easily pulled all the way back to the tip, before gently easing back in. Emma squirmed beneath him, choking back whimpers of pain. But her hand remained at his hip and pulled him into each thrust. For what felt like an eternity, they carried on this way, with Emma setting the pace. Fenris thought he might burst with desire.

Finally, Emma's hand fell to the stone as she released a quiet moan of pleasure, raising her hips to meet his. Fenris growled and grabbed her by the waist as he rose to his knees. Taking care to keep them connected, he drew her hips up into his lap and then wrapped his arms around her body. He pulled her up so that they were face to face and pressed their lips together. Emma moaned into his mouth as he moved again. He released a grunt of surprise when she rolled her hips to match him.

"Emma…" Fenris whispered, dipping his head to rest upon her shoulder.

The human gasped and moaned, winding arms around him with fingers dipping into his locks. She pulled him by the hair and drew his head back to reveal his throat before wrapping her lips around the flesh as he had done. He smirked and placed two hands upon her hips, forcing them down his cock. Emma cried out his name, releasing him, and Fenris brought a hand to her mouth. Breathing wetly beneath his hand, she grunted and moaned with her own hands searching his body for something to grapple. She began to shudder, eyes squeezing shut. Her voice was muffled underneath his fingers.

"I-...I'm…"

Fenris leaned to press his lips against her ear.

"Come."

Emma threw her head back, arching her body as he pumped into her. She bit back the moans, teeth puncturing the pink flesh. The sight sent Fenris over the edge and he quickly pulled himself out of her, bringing her hand to his cock. He guided her hand in a few thrusts as he brokenly moaned her name. Strings of his lust coated her breasts as he came and they brought their lips together again, breathing ragged breaths.

They leaned against each other and let the dull aches of pleasure ebb away. But the elated feeling in the elf's gut remained. Such happiness.

After a length of time spent in that manner, Fenris pulled her to the stone floor and melded her body to his. Feeling love in every fiber of his being, he brought a finger to gently stroke the skin of her cheek.

He whispered, "_Umo a festan."_

Emma frowned in thought with fingers stroking the skin of his back.

"What does that mean?"

Fenris smiled softly.

"I am yours."

vVv

_This scene took a long time coming (pun intended), and I hope it was worth the wait. Believe me, it was just as satisfying to finally write their love scene. So many times, I wanted to make Fenris take her. But I had to wait for the right moment. And I chose this one; the night before her marriage to Danarius._

_Thank you for reading this far! Indulge me if you have the time and tell me what you think. I love you guys, thanks for being the best partners in fiction. _


	54. Walking Omen

vVv

"My wolf isn't so little anymore, is he?"

"Master...," Fenris grunted, clenching the fingers that tightened around his throat. "I-..." He heaved a broken cough as black dots filled his vision.

"What did the lamb taste like, wolf?"

A smattering of red in the corner of his sight. Fenris clenched his eyes shut, whispering broken pleas to the Maker.

"Look."

When the elf did not comply, his master shoved him by the neck to face the redness. Fenris began to sob, bowing his head. He already knew.

"No, Master, I can't."

"I command you to look."

The elf was pushed to his knees, fingers against his back. He felt their spell ignite the lyrium within him. He cried out in agony, unable to fight the need to obey. Fenris opened his eyes.

"You greedy wolf. You left nothing for your poor master."

Emma lay in a broken heap before him, vacant eyes staring into nothingness. The fire in the amber had been extinguished. Blood stained her naked body and pooled beneath. In the center of her chest was a gaping hole, oozing the blood of a fresh wound. He felt something in his hand and slowly dropped his eyes to examine it.

A heart. Still beating between his shaking fingers. There was a chunk missing from its middle. Like someone had taken a…bite.

He tasted blood in his mouth and screamed.

Fenris awoke with a start, violent tremors wracking his body. He whimpered like a child as he gulped at the air, chest heaving. Blinking away the tears that blurred his vision, he sat up and and searched the cave with wild eyes until he found her beside him.

Emma lay motionless, as she had in his horrid dream. His stomach dove as he believed, for an excruciating moment, that it had been real. That she was dead. Then he saw the gentle rise and fall of her chest and lips parted in quiet sighs. Fenris braced an arm against the stone as his body went weak with relief. He brought a hand to his mouth and drew in a few deep breaths. His heart raced a mile a minute in the still cave as he watched his love; watched her be alive.

After relief died down to something manageable, Fenris became furious. How could he have been so _stupid_? To fall asleep with his master's naked bride in his arms. All the magister had to do was stumble into the caves for a morning soak and that would have been the end. It was one thing to become swept away in their love; that was risky enough. But to completely lose heedfulness...they could have slept here for hours-...

Fenris's head jerked up to the cave's opening and felt another wave of relief when he found that it was still dark. He could hear the distant sounds of morning birds, however, so they barely made it. But then there was the chance that Danarius had risen earlier than usual to prepare for the wedding. Fenris had to think of something to cover his tracks.

vVv

Danarius groaned softly at the pain in his head. Whenever Na Vanum took over...no- _heavily influenced his decisions_, the magister always suffered when he awoke...no- _regained himself. _Like the morning after a bath in wine. Danarius brought a hand to his eyes, wiping away the sleep. He felt a bit rejuvenated, and no longer sick. Perhaps that was what had caused Na Vanum to...heavily influence him. In his weakened state.

He flushed and then paled when he remembered the previous night. He allowed Emma to be violated by the demon so soon after he promised never to hurt her again. How many times would he frighten her until she felt nothing but hatred toward him? Danarius just wanted to see her smile. To be the cause of even the smallest speck of her happiness.

The magister drank up those moments before...like the day in the gardens. The day that he fell.

She had gazed upon the world with such wonder. Innocence in its purest form. He watched her as she soaked in the colors and smells, the blooms that swayed in the breeze. While she admired it all, he admired her. She was more beautiful than any flower among them. A true blossom.

And then she had said in a sweet sigh,

"_Thank you. That was perfect."_

Danarius smiled softly at the memory.

"_Oh, come off it. That's over with. She cowers in your presence now. And you like it."_

"Silence," he whispered, closing his eyes. "Leave me be."

Danarius rolled on his side to look upon his flower, eyes darkening as he instead looked upon an empty pillow.

"_Did she steal off into the night to be with the Archon's son?"_

The magister clenched the sheets in a fist, swallowing back the anger that rose like bile in his throat.

"_Wouldn't be a surprise, would it? They looked so cozy in eachothers' arms when we found them in their private little tent."_

He stifled the hot magma that bubbled inside his chest before growling, "Enough," to the unwelcome spectator. "It is no concern of yours."

"_I live inside your head, my friend. Your concerns are mine."_

Danarius threw the sheets off of his body, swinging his legs over the bed's edge and touching his toes to the soft rug below. He leaned his weight against the mattress in one hand, rubbing his aching temple with the other. Why did she do this to him? Running off left and right. Danarius lifted his head to stare out at the dark, gloomy dawn. Emma never wanted to spend a lick of time with him.

But then, really, could he blame her? She was frightened. He needed to ease her fears. Danarius needed to quell this monstrosity inside him, before he lost her forever.

"_Hardly fair. I was here before her."_

"Would you just-" Danarius hissed, "I can't get a moment's peace."

The demon had always remained with him since the day his mother had summoned it from the fade, but he only watched. It was a rare occasion to feel his influence, to hear his voice. It was only when Danarius was beside himself with rage that Na Vanum stretched inside his head. What caused him to be so present now?

vVv

Demetri hurriedly rapped at the door before crossing his arms. He tapped his foot as he listened to the rustling within. Hurry up. The door slowly creaked open, black eyes glaring up at him as a head was poked out.

Demetri pressed a hand to the door, opening it wider for him to slip through. Hadriana angrily sputtered at the intrusion, watching him enter her chambers in alarm. Nevertheless, she closed the door and crossed the room to stand before him.

"Do you know the hour?" she demanded immediately.

Demetri sat down upon the bed with a small smirk.

"As if you've been able to sleep the night before your uncle's wedding day."

Hadriana paled, darkening the purple bruises under her eyes. Perhaps she hadn't slept before this night. Scratching at her skeletal arms, she bit back, "You're one to talk. You're in love with the bride."

It was Demetri's turn to shift uncomfortably. He tried to ignore the clenching of his gut, the sharp tinge of pain in his chest, as he imagined Emma joining hands with that man. It hurt quite a bit to think of them together. More so since Demetri feared for the girl's safety; the reason for his coming to Hadriana's chambers.

"Danarius is going mad," he spoke evenly. "He will likely harm-"

"How so?" the witch's eyes had suddenly filled with excitement. "Is he seclusive? Impatient? Violent?" The demented woman had nearly begun to jump up and down.

Demetri stared up at her from beneath a furrowed brow, a bit of unease tickling at his belly.

He did not like her reaction at all. When Hadriana had said she wanted her uncle to go mad, he hadn't thought she meant..._mad_ mad.

"Last night, he blew up my tent," Demetri slowly explained. "But he was cheerful about it. He was entirely polite, but I felt he was seconds away from killing me-"

He stopped short as Hadriana nearly shivered with pleasure.

"Lovely," she purred.

"Right," Demetri continued with a nod. "You need to stop. Undo it."

The witch snorted, smile still in place. With a fold of her arms, she rested on one hip, cocking her head to the side. "Why in Andraste's name would I do that?"

An edge of anger crept into the blood mage's voice.

"Because the girl could be harmed."

Hadriana laughed; a high pitched whine that set Demetri's eye to twitching.

"That is ideal."

The Archon's son rose from the bed and towered over Hadriana, grabbing her by the arm and wrenching it towards him. He spoke in a quiet growl. "Listen, bitch. If you don't stop this, I'll make your life a living hell. I'll find some cause to put you in a hole- it isn't so hard as the Archon's son- and you'll never see your sodding uncle again."

The witch smirked.

"Very well. I will no longer be the cause of his madness." Her smile widened, tight skin stretching over bone. "But I cannot undo what has already been started. There is an evil within my uncle that cannot be contained. I have broke open the seal."

Demetri blinked in confusion, before jerking her by the arm again and snapping,

"What does that mean?"

Hadriana curled her lip, dropping her voice to a whisper.

"Tell me. Last night…" She leaned in closer, eyes widening in anticipation. "Were my uncle's eyes black?"

Demetri frowned, recalling the strange events.

"Yes," he replied quietly. He remembered that smile. As if another man were wearing his face like a mask. Strange. And those eyes…windows to complete darkness. "Yes, they were."

Demetri released the witch in disgust as she began to laugh. He backed away, watching her thin arms wrap around herself.

"You are madder than Danarius," he hissed, before turning to leave her chambers. As he closed the door behind him, he heard Hadriana's icy voice reply.

"But not madder than Na Vanum."

Demetri's hand paused around the door's knob before pulling it closed with a frown.

_Na Vanum? _The Pull?

vVv

Fenris pushed open the door, forcing his features into a calm that could not be questioned. In his

arms was Emma, where she breathed softly in sincere sleep. His heart tripped as he took in the sight of Danarius eyeing the pair with a raised brow from his bed. Letting none of his fears translate to his face, Fenris continued to step into the room.

The elf approached Danarius's bed, and laid the naked bride against his mattress. Gently, but not lovingly. Respectful, but not affectionate. That was key.

Emma sighed upon contact with the soft sheets, curling into the magister's warmth. Perhaps her slumbering mind assumed it was Fenris. In any case, it helped their cause and he tried to ignore the pangs of jealousy it caused him.

Fenris rose, waiting for the magister's inquiries. It was important that he did not explain himself. That would seem like a rush to make excuses. Thankfully, he needn't have worried because the magister promptly whispered,

"She fancied a bath?"

Fenris replied with a single nod.

Danarius rested an arm along her back, eyes softening as he watched her nestle against his side.

"And fell asleep?"

"Yes, master. In the baths."

The magister shook his head at that, sighing as he dipped fingers in her dark locks.

"See? This is precisely why I won't allow her to bathe alone."

Danarius lifted his head to smile at the elf.

"Thank you, little wolf. I was rather worried as to where she went. But it turns out you were prioritizing, as I asked."

Fenris bowed his head and stifled the urge to cough.

The elf certainly had been prioritizing. Though, not for the purpose of making his master happy. Rather, to make himself happy: making love to Emma before protecting his existence. He hid smirking eyes beneath his hair as he strode to adorn his armor.

"Ah, ah," Danarius spoke in a heightened whisper. "Not those brazen things today, Fenris."

The elf turned with a confused blink, greaves in hand.

"What will you have me wear, master?"

Danarius squinted at his apparent obliviousness. "Dress robes, of course," he answered with a wave of his hand. "Whatever else during a wedding? You'll curse our happiness in those brutish spikes. A...a walking _omen _is what you'd be."

Fenris stared, mirroring his master's furrowed brow. Danarius designed the elf's armor with the intent of making him look as intimidating as possible. He liked to see his guests squirm when the elf drew by. Fenris had never worn anything less than "brutish" in the presence of nobles. The suggestion of otherwise was strange to consider. Dress robes?

"Yes, master," he returned with a small dip of his head. "I do not wish to curse either of your...happinesses. Master."

Only half true.

vVv

She roused to a gentle hand stroking her head and began to smile. Emma's eyes fluttered open with teeth pressing against her lip to speak the elf's name. A pair of blue eyes met her gaze and she inhaled sharply before leaning away. The magister's gentle smile slipped into something sad and contrite.

"I know I deserve it," he murmured, lowering his gaze in shame, "I know."

Emma stared at him, pulling the sheets to her body. Her voice was sharp. She realized she was quite angry. With good reason. Perhaps the night with Fenris had given her the push she needed to deal with things. Her life seemed brightened, even with the day's events looming around her.

"Deserve what?"

Danarius winced at the bite in her voice.

"Your distrust. Your fear towards me."

"I am not afraid of you," she answered. Emma pressed an arm against the bed with a sigh and pushed herself into a sit.

The magister raised his head to meet her stare, a touch of surprise to his features. "You are not...afraid of me," he echoed with a large note of doubt.

Emma glared at him, "I am not."

Danarius frowned, turning his head to stare at her sideways.

"Forgive me," he began with narrowing eyes, "but...that cannot be true."

"You do not frighten me," she repeated. "You never have. Not too much, anyhow."

The magister looked as if he had been told the sky was actually green and that he had been wrong to believe it wasn't for his entire life. "That isn't possible," he said slowly. "You flinch at my every move."

"I am afraid of what you might do."

The words pulled Danarius into a somber grimace.

"And I am afraid of Vanum."

He snorted humorlessly, dropping his eyes to his hand that rested against the bed.

"I am, too."

Emma frowned, unsure of the proper response. She glanced to the elf's couch for guidance but it was empty. Her heart immediately lurched into a sprint as her stomach took a dive.

"Where is your elf?" Emma inquired. As evenly as she could muster.

The magister's mind was elsewhere when he answered, "Wedding matters."

vVv

Fenris emerged from the sodding room, feeling like the world's biggest oaf. He could still hear that insufferable woman prattling about inside, having not yet noticed his leave. Whenever Emma went on about the woman, she made her seem of the tolerable sort. How in Maker's name she came to that conclusion, he knew not.

The elf had just made it to the end of the hall when he heard a loud bustling behind him. He turned with a grimace to find En rushing toward him, red faced and heaving. In her hand was a long, thin black lace that trailed behind each step.

"_No_," he asserted, holding a hand out.

The seamstress grabbed him by the arm and pulled him close. Her hands promptly set to work about his chest, shoving the lace through the holes in his jerkin.

Fenris pushed at her hands, "Maker's breath, woman," he hissed with a flush, "haven't you done enough?"

"Oh, stop your whinin'," the seamstress retorted, smacking his hands away from the jerkin. "I swear, it's easier to dress my three year old nephew. You can't have your chest out at a blighted weddin', can you?"

The elf dropped his hands in defeat, glaring up at the hall ceiling. "I look ridiculous," he muttered.

"You look handsome! I wouldn't have it otherwise. Not with the way Emma goes on about you. She'd want you lookin' nice on 'er special day."

Fenris glanced around to make certain they were not overheard before sighing and allowing the woman to finish.

vVv

Arathea rose suddenly in bed with a gasp. Larus yelped in surprise, dropping the novel into his lap.

"Maker," he breathed, setting wild eyes upon her. "What?"

She groaned, slapping a hand to her eyes and shaking her head. Dropping it to her mouth, Arathea spoke beneath the hand, "I'm late." She noticed the fallen book in his lap. "Were you going on without me?"

Larus smiled sheepishly, "Just a chapter. Late for…?"

"Everything!" she cried, throwing the sheets off her legs. "There's so much to do, I can't believe I…" the elf moaned again, crossing the small room to collect her robe from the floor. "Tarma and Imra are going to butcher me," she hastily shoved her arms through the brown robes, "and serve me up for the Wedding Feast."

"The Wedding Fea-" Larus blinked.

He threw back the sheets off his own legs, stumbling out of bed. Grabbing at his underthings, he stared up at her in alarm, exclaiming,

"The bloody wedding is today!"

"I know!"

Larus tripped over his feet, dropping to the floor with a grunt. He shoved his legs through the cloth and fumbled at the lacings. "_How _late are we?"

"I don't know!"

He threw on his tunic and rushed to the door, opening it for her to pass through. Arathea hastened forth, arms overhead to pull back her hair into a braid.

When they reached the end of the hall, Larus gave the elf a quick kiss and a light squeeze of her arm.

"Have fun at the wedding," she spoke hurriedly, standing on her toes to kiss his cheek. Ara smiled when he bent to give her access. "You're too tall," she laughed against his skin. "Right, see you later."

"I'll grab you some cake," Larus promised with a loving pat to her hindquarters as she sped off. "So make it good!" he called.

"Oh, hush!" Ara giggled before rounding the corner.

Larus smiled, turning to head up the stairs.

Thanron stood before him and stared with a raised brow. He had just ermerged from his own chambers, hair and tunic messy with sleep. The boy was running late, too.

"Slave jokes," he grunted. "Cute."

Larus rolled his eyes and tousled the elf's hair as he passed by.

"I'll get you some cake, too, Ronny."

Thanron snarled at the healer's retreating back. It only made the git all the more adorable. Larus understood why Arathea coddled him so.

"I told you to stop calling me that!"

vVv

_Wanna know who my favorite character to write is? Can you guess? (Besides Fenris, obviously, I mean, c'mon) It's Demetri. It's just fun to write from his perspective; I don't know how to explain it. He's super duper important to the story, though, so it's a good thing I like writing him. _

_Who's your fave, for those who have the time, and why? Curiosity eats me._

_ THANKS FOR READING THIS THING!_


	55. To smile

vVv

Imraddon reached for the flour sack with wild eyes, thrusting the wooden cup into its depths. He hurriedly dumped it into the bowl that teetered on the edge of the counter. The elf reached again for the flour, scooping another cup full. He paused, closing his eyes in concentration.

"Ah, two-two...cups? Was it, Tarma?"

"Sounds good to me," came the calm reply.

Imraddon nodded to himself, "Two cups, of course," before tipping the second cup into the bowl. Reaching for the sugar, he muttered more measurements under his breath.

Elves bustled in and out of the kitchen throughout the morning. They mixed this, sorted that; roasted, baked, beat, whipped. The blonde elf had never seen so much chaos in all his time as Danarius's slave. Not even during his days as a guard.

In anticipation for the mayhem, the kitchen hands had already prepared breakfast and a small mid-day supper for the guests. They had made a wise decision, because the Wedding Feast was putting them through the mill; head first.

Imraddon looked up, wiping his brow, just in time to watch Thanron burst through the back entrance. He drug the limp body of a pig behind him, grunting with each pull. Blood marked his cheek from where his fingers must have itched after the kill.

"What are you doing?" Imraddon called from across the room. "Who asked you to kill a pig?"

Thanron lifted his head from the bent position, pig feet clenched in his fists. His frown of angry effort became a frown of angry confusion.

"_You _did," he exclaimed around breaths. "Just 'twenny minutes ago, you said 'kill the pig'! And tha's what I did, ya lout!"

Imraddon narrowed his eyes, "I told you to go 'pick the figs', boy." He groaned softly at the pain in his head, bracing a hand against the counter as he rubbed his brow.

Thanron dropped the pig's feet with a growl and pointed a finger at him from across the room.

"You know I hate killin' the poor bastards," he spoke roughly. "So don't tell me he died for nothin'."

Imraddon rolled his eyes. "I haven't the time for your theatrics," he sighed. "The pig won't go to waste." The elf reached for the sugar, feeling exhausted at the thought of preparing a whole new dish to use up the meat. "Now go pick the figs. _Figs_."

Thanron's severe glare dimmed to a scowl as he turned and trudged back into the rain, wrenching the door shut behind him.

vVv

Emma blushed as she was pulled into another hug with a firm kiss planted against her cheek.

She could feel the vibrations of the magister's voice against her ear. "Let's just try to have fun today, hm?" Emma lifted her chin to rest against his shoulder.

"Yes," she shifted on her tip toes.

"Right," Danarius gave her another hard squeeze. Emma grunted as she was lifted off the floor and into a twirl. "I need you to do me a favor, though," he said, setting her down. She leaned back and lifted her chin to meet their eyes.

Sheepish smile, "Go mingle-?"

Emma sighed, closing her lids. His smile turned to a grimace.

"I know you don't like it, but I must ask you to, ah...-anyway."

She drew away with a nod.

"Politics," he smiled again, apologetically, "the game never ceases." Danarius lowered his head, before raising it to look at her. He seemed a bit shy. "I don't much like to tell you what to do so... I'm sorry."

Emma frowned at that. Since when…? She supposed it may have been a while, actually. Since the last time he commanded her to do something against her will. At least, not while under Vanum's influence.

"It's alright."

Danarius leaned forward to rest his brow against hers and Emma, in turn, dropped her gaze to her feet. Why did her face heat? Why did she react at all? She did not love him. He knew that. She did not, and yet…

"I love you."

He loved her all the same. It made her feel a tinge of pain when his eyes filled with affection upon seeing her face. Yes, she noticed. The way his tired eyes lightened a bit when she entered the room. She'd seen that, too. How was she to respond?

_Emma loved the taste of vegetables mixed with lots of butter and salt. She smiled, having pieced together a pattern. Week after week, the meals had begun to accommodate her tastes more than anyone else's. She pushed a sweet carrot through her lips. It was crunchy at first; then it melted on her tongue from its slow cooking in a pot. Just the way a carrot ought to do. Emma lifted her head from her plate to see if Danarius had eaten his carrots. _

_Just as she suspected, they lay in a pile; untouched. _

_Danarius bent his head to listen as a red faced man by the name of Pan spoke quickly into his ear. The plump magister's face jiggled as he spoke, chin quivering around his speech. A small crease formed between Danarius's brows as he listened. Emma had begun to notice the warning signs of his agitation. That crease would form; then his jaw would harden as he clenched his teeth-ah, there it was. He would press an arm against the table and watch his fingertips pick at the edge of his knife. Mm-hm, right on cue. Contained contempt for the speaker or what was being said. In this case, with the steady darkening of his eyes, Emma believed it to be both._

_ Danarius inhaled sharply at something Pan said, turning to him with hard eyes. _

_ "An estal emparion un egton."_

_ The red faced man became even more so and nodded his head once. Emma watched with raised brows as he straightened from his knelt position and waddled back to his seat at the end of the table. _

_ Danarius sighed and rubbed the palm of his hand against his eyes. _

_ "You haven't eaten your carrots."_

_ The magister lowered his hand, eyes softening a bit as they met with hers before falling to his plate. His lips pulled down into a slight frown. _

_ "I despise them."_

"_I suspected as much," Emma nodded gravely. "I've noticed you never touch them."_

_Danarius lifted his gaze and stared at her beneath peppered locks, cocking his head to the side. "You've been monitoring my carrot intake?" _

"_Your elf is the same way, in that."_

_ The magister blinked, raising his chin with a confused smile. He turned to glance at the elf behind them (who appeared equally puzzled) before leaning in, as if in confidence. _

_ "You've uncovered his deep hatred for carrots?"_

_ Emma had meant the stare beneath hair, accompanied with that sort of half turn of their head. But the way Danarius phrased it-the amused look in his eyes-pushed a sudden burst of laughter past her lips. She slapped a hand to cover her mouth as she shook with giggles._

_ Danarius grinned, lowering his voice further._

_ "It is the cause for his constant brooding, you know."_

_ Emma doubled over and clenched her sides. _

_ "He's thinking about carrots?" she breathlessly clarified. _

_ The magister nodded, stifling a laugh through a clamping of his lips. _

_ "Carrots are to blame, yes," he spoke with some strain. Emma laughed even more at his valiant effort to hold back the laughter. She couldn't breathe. Perhaps she should have relished the taste of her second glass of wine a bit more, and not guzzled it. "He thinks about them constantly. He dreams of them invading his mouth with their orange bodies._

_ "Quick," Danarius's brow furrowed with effort as he pushed his plate toward her , "It pains him to be so near, you must eat them." Emma quickly grabbed them, shoving them all into her mouth. Danarius lost his composure then, and the built up laughter left him in an explosion; like the cork in a shaken bottle of champagne. _

_Emma laughed around the mouthful and began to cough. She kept trying to chew but her teeth wouldn't close as wave after wave of hysterics hit her._

"_Why...," he wheezed, "Did you eat them all-" Danarius leaned over as his breath was stolen, "at once?" he finally finished._

_Emma shook her head, covering her face with both hands in embarrassment. _

_ "Mah eeh uur," she moaned around the bite, rubbing her aching cheeks. "Oh."_

"_I can't understand you," Danarius laughed, smoothing his robes. "Hoo, my cheeks hurt from laughing so hard."_

_Emma bounced in her chair, nodding and pointing to her full cheeks. _

"_Thah'sh wha I shaid!" she cried._

_Danarius threw his head back with uncontained laughter. And the pair continued to __laugh until they were weak, ignoring the prying stares of their guests. They joked all through dinner, giddy with wine and full of fine food. Emma's head was positively spinning as she leaned back in her chair, nearly tipping back onto the floor. Danarius braced a hand against the chair's back, pushing it to rest on its legs again._

_ "Easy there," he chuckled. "I think someone had a bit too much to drink."_

_ "Who," Emma smirked, rolling her gaze up at him. "You? Need me to carry you up to your chambers?"_

_Danarius raised a brow as he drained his own wine glass with a smile. _

"_Your tolerance is very low, it seems. Two glasses in and you have the hiccups."_

"_Be that as it may," Emma began with a sigh before frowning in thought. _

_Danarius leaned forward, "Yes?"_

_Emma leaned back, blushing at his nearness. He was rather beautiful when he wanted to __be. When he wasn't strange, or moody, or mean, or confusing; he was quite charming. She had actually begun to sort of like the lines that crinkled about his eyes when he laughed. And the squareness of his stubbled jaw was rather...handsome. Sometimes. And his eyes were the purest blue, almost iridescent in any light. His hair, which she noticed had been cut short just before his leave to Minrathous, framed his brow in a very pleasing manner. It fell into his eyes, and he constantly shook it away when he carried out a task. Emma liked it when he did that._

_She glared at Danarius, angry at him for confusing her with strange thoughts. _

_ "I don't know. I think I used that phrase incorrectly."_

_ The magister laughed, "I think so."_

_ His laugh was nice, too. Emma scowled, pushing away her empty plate in annoyance. _

_ "Ready to retire?" Danarius asked with a touch of surprise as she gracelessly rose from her chair. _

_vVv_

_Later that night, after pulling Emma to his chest as they lay in bed, Danarius whispered,_

"_Thank you, my flower. I really needed that."_

_Emma sighed into his tunic, murmuring against the fabric, _

"_Needed what?"_

"_To smile."_

vVv

Emma continued to stare at her feet, frowning as she recalled that night. It was fuzzy from the wine, but it was still there, gnawing at her like an itch. That look of adoration on his face. And the inkling of feeling she had for him in that moment.

"Most convenient," she uttered back, "because we will be married today."

Danarius chuckled and planted her brow with a soft kiss.

vVv

Fenris dropped eyes to his hand around the doorknob as Danarius pressed his lips to her skin. He gently pulled the door closed, wincing a bit at the ache that throbbed in his chest. The elf had returned from his blighted encounter with En, feeling like a git, and opened the door to find their embrace. He chose to wait for Danarius outside in the hall, instead.

It was becoming increasingly difficult to watch the magister carry out his affections toward Emma. More and more difficult. Was it because Danarius seemed to like her more with each day? Or... was it because Emma did?

That look in her eyes. She had looked at him that way; in the beginning. When she was sorting out her feelings for him. The elf could see her fighting it, could see the anger as she clenched her fists. She did not want to develop feelings for the man who held her captive.

He smiled bitterly at the wall before him.

Fenris hadn't wanted to, either.

What a miserable trio. A sodding love triangle.

vVv

"Right," Danarius sighed, "I have affairs to attend before the ceremony." He drew away with a tired smile. "I shall see little of you until then. It will quite increase the suspense, don't you think?"

He gave her arm a last squeeze and turned to leave. "Dress and mingle," he called before disappearing behind the door.

Emma closed her eyes, heaving a sigh of her own.

vVv

Danarius approached with a half smile, a pleased look about his face.

"You look rather well."

"I'm glad you are pleased, master," the elf spoke gravely.

The magister snorted, reaching hands to straighten Fenris's jerkin. He admired the cut of the fabric, its color. All the while, he brushed his fingers about, smiling to himself.

"Now, tell me what you really think," Danarius teased. "I'm curious."

Fenris stared at him with hard eyes, "I hate it, master."

"Consider it your wedding gift to me, then."

vVv

Imraddon dropped his knife against the counter, growling as pain shot up his arm. He slammed his fist in anger against the countertop before realizing, t-too late, ahm, Maker, that it was a very unhelpful and stupid thing to do when one's arm ailed them. The elf leaned over as his arm throbbed with even more pain that before.

Tarma's worried voice was beside him at once.

"Let me fetch Larus," she insisted for what seemed like the hundredth time that morning. "The pain will be gone before you can thank him."

Imraddon shook his head, bracing his good arm against the counter.

"I was just being careless," he spoke in a forced calm to hide the pain from his voice. "I keep forgetting."

vVv

Thanron watched with narrowed eyes from where he rested atop a stool. With so many elves running about in the ballroom and through the gardens; the kitchenhands needed all the help they could get. So, Thanron plopped himself down and set to defeathering the ducks what needed roasting. Pretending that Imraddon wouldn't have forced him to, anyway. He was helping by choice, dammit.

The stupid lout kept lifting and thrusting and throwing his injured arm all over the damned place; even though it had just been ripped open last night. Tarma kept telling him to take it easy, but the blighted man wouldn't listen; he was so focused on all the cooking.

Just a minute ago, he had banged his arm against the door as someone hurried inside and he nearly cried over it. The oaf just smiled at the apologizing elf with wide eyes, shaking his head in dismissal like the fires of hell weren't running up and down his arm. That's when Thanron knew how bad it hurt him. Imraddon doesn't smile. Least, not that easy.

Imraddon hissed as he gripped the knife again. He was wearing a rather concerning look of determination on his face. The lout just wouldn't quit. Normally, Thanron would admire that in a person. But right now, with Imraddon yelping in pain like a beaten mabari, it was pissing him off. He dropped the duck back into the bucket with the rest, stood up, and stuffed his hands into the pockets of his trousers. Imraddon glanced at him, brow furrowing. He knew pocket stuffing meant business.

"Be back," Thanron grunted before Imraddon could protest, "Jus'second."

vVv

Thanron approached a woman at the foot of the main stairs.

"'Scuse me, ma'am, d'you know where I can find Lord Larus?"

The noblewoman lifted a pair of glasses attached to a stick to her face, squinting at him with a frown. She was rather tall for a human woman, with a nose like a bird's beak, and muddy eyes a bit too close together. Her skin sagged around her mouth, like the jowls on a dog. And there was something etched into her face; a damned expression he noticed lots of the nobles wore. Like they smelled something awful, it was. She continued to stare down at him in slight interest. Thanron grew impatient as he waited for a reply.

"Pretty little thing, aren't you?"

Thanron bit back the retort that itched at his tongue. _Pretty, little, _and _thing_, were not adjectives and a...uh, noun-he liked associated with himself. And she managed to stuff them all into one sodding sentence. Maker guide him through this encounter and let it be brief.

"Thanks a heap, ma'am. Now, d'you know where-"

"What _is _that accent? It is positively savage. Where are you from?"

"Ehrm, I've lived here all my life, ma'am. Most of the others talk like me. But most everyone's from Kirkwall, so I guess that's how I-"

"_Are _they," she exclaimed. "How interesting. I've never heard one speak before. You're the only one with the disrespect."

Thanron nodded, shifting on his feet. Yeah, okay, sure _disrespect. _He wasn't good at playing Obedient Slave in front of the nobles ('cept Master Danarius), alright? Imraddon always said that's why he's put to work with the animals. Can't offend them with words. "About Lord Larus-"

A deep voice sounded just behind him,

"What do you want with Larus, boy?"

The woman made a frightened face and rushed off, stuffing her weird stick glasses into her handbag.

Thanron turned on his heels and was forced to lean back in order to get a full view of the man before him. Maker, he was big. Bigger than Imraddon, even.

He knew it, too, that he was big, and wanted everyone to know it, too. The sleeves of his robes were rolled up to reveal his big, muscular arms, with swirling tattoos covering the olive skin. His chest peeked from the rather gaudy opening of his robes, dark hair smattered all over. A long scar ran over his lips, pursed tight as he waited for an answer. Black hair fell in all directions on his head, like he just rolled out of bed. Kind of like Thanron's. Fellow bedhead.

"I-," the elf swallowed. "'M'lookin' for Lord Larus."

"Yeah," he answered gruffly, folding his arms. "Got that bit. What for?"

Thanron furrowed his brow, crossing his own arms. Who'd this guy think he was, nosin' about in his business?

"Message," he answered in a grunt.

The man raised a thick brow. "A message, huh? I'll pass it along for ya, kid."

"Thanks, but I need to deliver it m'self."

"What's your name?"

The elf paused. A nobleman never asked him for his name before. And blonde elf huggers like the blond lout didn't count.

"Thanron. Yours?"

A surprised frown pulled at the man lips as he stared down at the elf. He wrinkled his nose, turning his head as he gave Thanron a once over; like he was seeing him for the first time.

"Pick me out a name."

"What?"

"Any name'll do me fine."

Thanron narrowed his eyes, scrunching his face up in disbelieving confusion. He dropped his hands to his sides and took a slow step back.

"What sort are you?" he puzzled. "You s'posed to be here?"

The man let out a booming laugh.

"So what's it gonna be?"

"Ah...Addis," Thanron sighed in agitation. "Addis."

The smile fell from the man's face and he thrust a hand out to grab Thanron by the front of his tunic.

"You little shit. You 'eard of me, 'innit?"

Thanron blanched, raising his hands with splayed fingers. How in Andraste's name-?  
"I swear, tha's the world's biggest coincidence. It just came out."

The man's face broke into another grin, and he grabbed the boy by the arm, pulling him to his side. He smoothed the elf's wrinkled tunic with a firm patting.

"Ah, I'm just kiddin' ya. But call me Addis, all the same, yeah? Suits me, 'donit?"

Thanron stammered in indignation, pushing hands against the man.

"I need to get to-"

"Yeah, yeah, I'll take you to 'im. Calm y'self."

The top of Thanron's head barely met the man's elbow. So damn huge. He dazedly allowed himself to be herded, like one of his own sheep. The man's arm rested atop Thanron's head as they stepped forth.

"Who the hell _are_ you?" he wondered out loud.

The man laughed, "I'm Addis!"

vVv

They had descended the stairs to find him.

Mirima stared at the marble floor with wide eyes as the odd pair walked past. Her hand was curled into a fist against the stair column. How could this happen? She waited for them to exit the entrance hall.

"Oh, Maker," Mirima groaned, hammering the column with her fist. "Who let him in? I'll kill the idiot who let that horrid man in." She paused and shook her head, "No, I won't."

Demetri burst into a fit of laughter, leaning against the railing.

"It's not funny!"

"It is."

"Damn you. Damn him. Damn it all!"

"At least now," Demetri chuckled into his arm, "you know what to call him."

"_Shut up_!"

vVv

_December has been a good month for this fic! Gettin' lots of love from you guys :) It makes my day to read your responses or see an addition to the reading pool. SO gratifying. It's like a drug. _


	56. I've only weakened

vVv

Whenever he was feeling overwhelmed with any sort of unpleasant thought, books would provide him with sanctuary. Ever since he was a child, the pages of knowledge, adventure, and wisdom would crowd his mind and force the bad things out to make room for good. Words were a medicine he could chew until the pain ebbed away. He sought it out now, reaching for an old friend of a tale. His fingers brushed its eggshell spine.

Danarius braced a hand against the bookshelf, tipping his head as a slow roll of pain traveled through his skull. Anger heated his neck and his palms clammed inside fists. The magister shook his hair out of his eyes and willed the sudden anger to part from him. He should not be angry. There was no reason to be angry. Today was a happy day.

It was the Pull, picking open old wounds and pushing a clawed finger into their memory. Vanum wanted to hurt him with the past as his weapon. The demon sought his mind's destruction. But why? What spurred Vanum to be so aggressive now? He had been nearly dormant for years and peace had begun to set in the magister's mind. And then, with Emma's arrival...he had even begun to feel what it was to be content. To look forward to tomorrow. Butterflies. Who would have thought the creatures could inhabit _his_ stomach? Danarius had thought himself immune to butterflies.

Today, he was going to be joint with her. She was going to be his. But then, she had always been; since the day she walked through his door. What difference did it make to be wed? Why force her to speak empty vows? Did he hope that, in time, her feelings would change? Was he willing to force her into a life of unfulfilled love? What joining is there when the pieces cannot fit?

Danarius slumped and masked his watering eyes with quivering fingers.

Why?

Because she was the light in a dark abyss. If the magister let her go, he would be lost to the suffering forever. He would surrender completely to the Pull.

"And for that," Danarius whispered in the room of words. "I must ask you to bear it, Emma."

He had to ask that of her often, didn't he?

vVv

Addis and Thanron scanned the vast room for the healer.

They stood in the ballroom that had been set up as a sort of dayroom until the wedding ceremonies were to begin. Traditionally, this would take place outside, but as it was a bit nippy and nobles were pansies, Danarius had them crammed in here. That meant extra work for the poor sods who did the house trimmin'. Imraddon wasn't the only one up to his neck in work.

The marble floor had been lain with a nice 'n tasteful carpet so the nobles didn't get a ache in their prissy little heels. Loveseats and tables with games to entertain were strewn neatly about the room. A hearty game of bag-toss was behind held in one corner, sinful card playing in the other. The kitchenhands had even gone as far as to set up a mini buffet for the nobles, filled to high heaven with sweets, fruits, and breads, so no one felt peckish for a single second. But that was more to keep their noses out of the kitchen so the elves could focus on preparations. Thanron scanned the room in contempt, pausing when he spotted a familiar face.

Emma sat on her rump before the grand fire, a book in her lap. Maker, that girl gobbled books up faster than fire. She looked so innocent and sweet-like, readin' with a soft smile on her face. It made Thanron want to mess with her a bit. Later.

"There, the bloke is."

Addis gave Thanron a hard shove, nearly knocking the elf off his feet. Thanron glared up at him with lips pursed in anger. The big brute smiled sheepishly and the scar stretched over his lips.

"On'y meant to tap 'ya. You're a little fella."

"Yeah, well you're huge," Thanron retorted under his breath. That's why he named him "Addis". It was the first word that popped into his head. It meant "giant" in Arcanum.

The healer sat a little ways from Emma, pinching a glass of wine between his fingers. He seemed rather bored, with this sort of faraway look on his face. Interesting. So the lout didn't care for the flouncing about of nobles. A little smile pulled at one end of his lips. Thanron imagined he was thinkin' about Ara. And how he'd rather be shaggin' her. Git.

Larus lifted his head and watched the strange pair approach. After the look of surprise had left his face, he set to suppressing an amused smile that shined bright as the damned sun behind his eyes. He was havin' a laugh, he was. Thanron glowered at him, hands balled into fists at his sides.

"Lord Larus," Addis boomed with a wide grin.

Thanron felt many pairs of eyes turn to peer at them. Some faces twisted in disdain as they looked upon the brutish man; some, in fear.

"When did you arrive?"

"Just now," the man answered with a touch of pride. "Got the invitation a bit late."

Larus snorted, "I'm surprised you received one at all, having been buried in The High Reaches."

"I gave that courier the run around of 'is life, poor sod," Addis beamed at the memory, shakin' his head. "'Ad to nurse 'im back to health after he found me. A full week until he could speak again. Even 'ad to carry him back down the mountain to a village in the Valarian Fields." Addis looked about with arms folded over his broad chest. "But here I am, just in time, it seems. Wedding's today?"

"Yes, just this afternoon."

"Where's the lucky lady?" Addis searched the room, bright eyes passing over each face. "Or lad, I suppose. Danarius is a bit into both, isn't he?"

Thanron made a face of disgust, feeling a small shiver run up his body.

_Imraddon, blushing as a hand raked his thigh. He arched his back when fingers wrapped around his-_

"I'm she," Emma blurted, scrambling awkwardly into a stand while Thanron furiously shook his head to rid the blighted images. He had only _just _gotten rid of them. Sort of. And here they were again. "I'm to marry Danarius. My name is Emma Hawke, of Ferelden."

"Oh," Addis chuckled in surprise before resting his hands on his hips. He gave the girl a once over, before thrusting a hand out. "Addis. Whereabouts Fereldon are you from?"

"'Addis'," Larus echoed with a raised brow. "Are you in hiding? Why change your-"

"This little fella titled my fine self in the entrance hall," Addis gave Thanron another pat on the back. The elf braced himself just in the nick of time, saving him the embarrassment of falling to his knees. "Didn't ya?"

"Yep," Thanron grumbled. "Strange enough, I did."

The healer's brow furrowed in confusion.

"Ehrm...why?"

Addis shrugged with an aloof smile before turning back to Emma, expectantly.

Her eyes glinted with interest before answering, "Lothering." Then she stared at him, assessing his reaction.

"Oh," Addis said again, though a bit thrown this time. That was an answer he hadn't seemed to have expected. Perhaps there aren't any of the noble sort in Lothering, and he knew it. But then, Thanron couldn't be sure. He didn't get out much.

"That's…," Addis looked to be struggling for the right thing to say. Something the elf hadn't seen him do a lick of since he met him. The bloke seemed to say the first thing that popped into his head without giving much thought to it at all. "Are you...a…?" Addis let that sentence trail away.  
"Slave?" Emma finished for him. She lifted her chin, as if to show that the title didn't stunt her pride one bit. "Yes, I am."

"You are," Addis breathed with raised brows. "That's...complete shite."

Larus immediately took a step toward him, "It isn't your affair, old friend," The healer's tone was lined with reason, but his eyes were firm. "Don't be bothered by-"

Addis's voice was suddenly empty of its playfulness.

"'Don't be bothered'?" he spoke slowly. "What is the meaning of this?"

"You know Danarius," Larus sighed, "to be a man of...unaffected ambition. He set his eyes on the girl and-"

Addis snapped, "Was that before or after he bought 'er?" Shaking his head and squeezing his lids shut, "No-I don't want to know; they're both shite." He then passed his eyes over Emma a second time, glaring at every inch of her. "Dressin' 'er up like a doll on display," he uttered with distaste. "Disgusting. Where is he? How dare he summon me to witness this?"

Larus's voice was full of warning now, "You should not speak against such things. You fell in love with a slave, too. It happens."

A flash of anger colored the brute's cheeks. He leaned in to Larus, who didn't move an inch in response. Thanron turned wide eyes to Addis, seein' him in an all new light. Yet another noble who liked slaves. Was his slave love an elf?

"That's right," he growled, dark eyes tight with anger. He thrust a thumb to himself. "_I_ _was_ in love with her. So, I set her free. I set _all _my slaves free. I did not _marry _the woman against her will."

"You know little of matters here," Larus calmly replied. "I was equally perplexed when he announced the engagement-..." A pause, "though I had been more worried about his reputation." He glanced at Emma with an apologetic half-smile before returning eyes to Addis. "All it took was a talk and I understood his intentions. You should speak to him about it, as well."

"Hmmph," Addis drew away, muttering a bitter, "Damned right I will." He turned round, ignoring the many pairs of eyes on him. "Why the hell did he invite me to this shite?"

"Because he wants you to be here," Larus hissed. Addis paused his steps.

"You're his brother."

The man's shoulder slumped as he continued across and out of the ballroom.

Thanron watched his leave with a thoughtful frown. He didn't seem so bad. Strange bloke, but his head seemed to be in the right place. A noble freeing all his slaves? And freeing the woman he loved? That's, well- noble in the other sense of the word. Imagine that; a noble noble.

Thanron smirked at that and turned to Larus, who was swiping a hand across his face. The small exchange seemed to have tired him. Thanron opened his mouth to request the healer's hands when Emma exploded in a sudden,

"That man was Danarius's _brother_?"

Larus sighed, hand moving to rub the back of his neck.

"Little brother."

Thanron snorted a laugh.

"_Younger _brother," the healer amended into his wine glass.

Emma was staring at the ballroom doors in awe.

"Danarius is full of surprises, isn't he?"

She nodded at the healer with wide eyes, murmuring, "As soon as I think that I've begun to know him, more complexities present themselves."

vVv

With Larus on the way to help Imraddon, Thanron could stop worrying about the bloke. He would return promptly to the kitchens and help finish preparations for the Wedding Feast without having to listen to the oaf's moans and groans of pain. The sounds of hurt festered in Thanron's stomach. He'd have rather endured that gash on his own arm than watch Imraddon in pain.

Thanron blinked. That's a bit...generous. He blinked away his inner ramblings, turning to Emma and giving her arm a playful nudge. First thing's first.

"What're you doin' here," the elf smiled teasingly, "'ya lazy bum, we could use you."

Emma winced, cheeks coloring, "You say that in jest, but I do feel useless in this room while you all work so hard. I want to help, but Danarius has ordered me to 'mingle' with the guests."

Thanron snorted, "You're doin' a fine job then, stickin' 'yer nose in a book."

The human glanced at the book with a sheepish smile.

"I said 'hello' to a few guests," she said in a small voice. Thanron smirked at her and folded his arms. She sighed and shook her head, "I have nothing in common with these people and I know not what to say. And many of them speak only Arcanum, anyway."

All of a sudden, Thanron knew _exactly _the prank he would pull on sweet, innocent Emma.

vVv

Danarius scribbled a hurried line, eye twitching at the sound of his scratching quill. A terrible noise. He swiftly dipped the feather's end into the ink but the scratching persisted thereafter, along with his agitation. The magister sighed and dropped his quill to the parchment. Unwise, as the ink splotched all over his hard work. Danarius stared at the ruined parchment a long moment before seizing it in his hands and setting it ablaze between his fingers.

He heard Fenris clear his throat from his position before the fireplace. When the magister raised his head to glare at him, he found that the elf was instead focused on the doorway and followed his gaze.

"Brother," Danarius murmured, staring up from his desk, "you've come."

His brother, who had been glowering at him with vain restraint, blinked and slackened his frown. He dipped his head, shifting on his feet, before lifting it with a small smile.

"Sorry that I'm so late."

"It's quite alright," Danarius dismissed in a daze. "How are you?"

"I'm well," his brother answered quietly. Dark brows furrowed when he returned the inquiry with a hesitant, "And...you?"

Danarius nodded, forcing a smile on his lips. It felt unnatural as it stretched his face.

"I'm doing the best I can with a demon in my head."

Danarius's brother tensed at the words, eyes filling with a plethora of emotions. Anger, hate, fear, sadness, pity. The same emotions he himself felt for the demon, Danarius supposed. Na Vanum had cause their family a great deal of pain.

"It has returned?" his brother whispered, taking slow steps into the room.

"I thought so, initially," Danarius squeezed his hand around the burnt parchment, voice shaking, "But now I realize it had never left. I've only weakened."

His brother grimaced, dropping his eyes to the floor. To obscure his face below wild hair. A habit the boy had adopted as a child. Watching his feet, he stepped to the couch and slowly rested upon it.

"I wanted to berate you for wedding a slave."

Danarius paused at the words, eyes softening.

"Of course, you did," the magister murmured. "You are my better. You did what I cannot."

His brother raised his face to reveal a confused expression.

"You 'cannot' free her?"

Danarius felt a tingle-... a burning sensation ignite his body. Pain. Anger. He felt his hold loosen.

"I love Emma with my entire existence," Danarius spoke roughly, ignoring the tremors that had begun to wrack his body. Gently, at first. "She helps me be me-..." he released a bitter laugh, tilting his head to the side, "...reminds me that there is a _me _to begin with."

The tremors worsened, memories tickling his mind, playing behind his lids as he closed them. Danarius said the words, afraid that Na Vanum was speaking for him-

"_I would sooner kill Emma than let her leave." _

-and even more afraid that he was speaking for himself.

vVv

Demetri entered the ballroom, a bundle of nerves erupting in the pit of his stomach. There she was, looking lovely and fidgety and adorable. His eyes widened when they met with hers, then more so when they watched the amber fill with light. Demetri forced himself into a calm, acknowledging her with a swift nod. Her lips spread in a smile as he stepped further inside, forcing blood faster than what should be humanly possible through his veins. Maker, she was merciless.

He tensed when she bounded toward him, nearly tripping on the fabric of her gown. Her cheeks colored at the clumsiness and she slowed her strides to something within her capacity of grace. Demetri prayed that the elf wasn't standing just behind him. That the happy welcome was meant for _him_, rather.

"Demetri," Emma smiled as she neared, quelling his fears. She tucked a lock of hair behind her ear and smoothed her gown. Clearing her throat, she looked up at him with sincerity and took hold of his hand.

In his native tongue, she spoke the words,

"I want you inside of me."

Demetri choked on a breath, heating from the tip of his toes to the top of his head. He could not draw a response, and instead opened and closed his mouth like a fish, willing his arousal to die down.

He was no fool. The phrase had been fed to her under false pretenses. There was no possible way that Emma would say such a thing on her wedding day, in a crowded room full of nosy nobles who now whispered in excitement.

She hadn't said the phrase quietly. Many heard and the word had traveled throughout the room; fast. What else had the poor sods to discuss? The rain's poor timing had already been covered ten times over. A dishonest bride was a good alternative.

Yes, it had been a prank, obviously. But...still.

To hear the words on her tongue. To watch her round lips form each syllable. He owed whoever was responsible for the sweet moment.

"No…" he spoke with a bit of projection so that the others could hear. "Someone is playing games with you. The words are '_fan umo an aggneci' - 'thank you for coming'_."

"Oh," Emma responded with a touch of disappointment. Her voice became wary, "what did he make me say?"

"Something a bit more intimate," Demetri hinted gravely.

Emma flushed, glancing around the room.

"For Maker's sake," she spat.

vVv

"There. Ah...the marks will fade in a few days."

"Thank you, Lord Larus," Imraddon sighed in relief, turning his arm this way and that before examining the flesh. Only a smear of pink and a thin line could be found where the gash had been just moments ago. His tight features had relaxed, returning to their usual serious position. "Though, I hadn't wished to trouble you during the festivities." He passed Thanron a hard glance from across the room. Ungrateful git. Thanron smirked, glad that the hurting was through.

"It was no trouble," Larus dismissed with a hint of discomfort. He never did well with gratitude, the lout. He always grimaced in that guilty way; like a dog that had just takin' a shit on the rug. "I'm sorry you were hurt." He glanced up at the elves who had stopped working to observe. "You must all be careful today. Danarius is not himself." They each nodded gravely, a touch of fear draining the color from their cheeks. "Wedding jitters," he added half-heartedly. No one believed it.

"Well," the healer grunted, pushing himself to his feet, "thank you for the hard work." He dipped his head in a small, awkward bow before taking his leave.

Thanron called out to the blond elf as soon as he was gone.

"Now you can quit 'yer moanin', ya sissy."

Imraddon sputtered his indignation as the elves laughed and resumed their work. Thanron picked up a potato from the untouched basket and set to peelin'.

vVv

Imraddon glanced up from his chopping, eyes resting upon the elf's stooped form. He was curling his lip in a soft sneer as he concentrated on scraping his knife against the potato's rim. Imraddon smiled softly at the sight.

Thanron raised his head, training eyes immediately on Imraddon's, whose smile then shifted to a grin. Suddenly, the younger elf's ears flushed scarlet and he quickly dropped his gaze back to peeling. Imraddon frowned at the small exchange before returning to work.

vVv

Maker, what was that? Thanron peeled furiously at a potato, failing to notice that it was already bare. His heart was achin' and throbbin' like the day he found Ara kissin' the healer in the hall. But he hadn't been sad or thinkin' about that at all. Fact is, Thanron had forgotten he used to have feelings for the girl.

So why was he all out of sorts?

Lookin' at Imraddon, catching him staring with one of those rare smiles, that's when it started. But the feeling and _him _weren't linked. They couldn't be. He wasn't a bloody-...Thanron felt a curl of disgust in his belly at the thought. Right, he closed his eyes in relief. The elf still felt the same way about _that_. That was good. He opened them slowly, glancing up at Imraddon to make certain. His heart flip flopped and Thanron thought he was going to be sick in the potato basket. He hated _that_.

So...why was he all out of sorts?

vVv


	57. In this moment

vVv

Pressing lips around its ceramic edge, Mirima took long sips from her teacup. The cup was just for appearances, of course. It was filled with rather burly rum. The young woman hid her cringes beneath red hair after each lifting of the cup.

She watched Emma from across the room. The girl sat in a secluded corner with her elder brother, wrenching his heart even further out of his chest, no doubt. Poor man. Mirimi liked the lamb, of course, but the effect she was having on Demetri was more than a tad unsettling. He was absolutely besotted, though her stubborn brother would never admit it aloud; perhaps not even in the private corners of his mind.

Emma was to be married this very afternoon, and yet there she smiled and spoke with bright eyes before a man who wasn't the lucky one to take her hand. And the way that elf looked at her.. it wouldn't come as a surprise if Emma flashed _him_ the same sweet smile.

Though, Mirima had to quietly resign herself; the girl was entirely oblivious. She clearly hadn't the slightest inkling of the prince's affections. There was nothing that could be done in that case. Mirima just hoped Demetri could wish her the best and keep a cool head.

vVv

"Ah-no," Emma giggled, pushing his fingers away. They were pinched around a black piece that did not belong where Demetri wished to lay it. She motioned to the striped board, "You can't go back the way you came."

Demetri glared at her before dropping eyes to their game, "Why not?" His fingers hovered over the strip of white, pushing back against her hand. "You'll get me if I don't."

Emma shook her head, hand insistent against his. "You must accept your fate," she spoke gravely. "Don't run from it."

The Archon's son grimaced, returning his piece to its original position before scooting it forward. He watched her next move with squinting eyes. Emma shoved her piece against his and it slid down the board and into his lap. Demetri stared down at it sadly, picking it up like one would a fallen comrade.

"You were brave," he murmured to the little stone. "I'm sorry I failed you."

Emma laughed, "Now, I feel like a tyrant."

"You are," Demetri spoke in a sad sigh. The tip of his thumb rubbed idle circles around the stone's surface. He glanced up at her beneath blond lashes, "What will you conquer next?"

She stared at the question a moment. There was a sort of suggestiveness to his eyes as they pierced hers, as sharp and cold as ice. Turning a white stone about in her fingers, Emma opened her lips and closed them. A tensed silence tainted the air between them; it was difficult to breathe in.

He gazed down at her strangely. The pale pink lips twitched as they did when he was angry. Had she provoked him without realizing it?

"Don't be a sore loser," she said quietly. Emma had meant it in a tease, but her voice lacked the playfulness to convey it as such. It was difficult to be light when he looked at her that way.

The blood mage lifted one side of his mouth in a smile before pocketing the black rock and rising from his seat.

Emma frowned, "Where are you going?"

"Another loser approaches."

She blinked in confusion and Demetri turned round, crossing the broad room in long strides. Emma watched, scrounging through their exchange to find the moment when she could have upset him.

A low rumble snatched her from the jumbled thoughts,

"En summons you."

Emma turned, a smile returning to her lips...only to slip from her face again as she took in the sight.

She had never seen so handsome a creature. The elf was groomed into a perfection that stole her breath away; he looked to be an elven prince from a fairytale. Emma's eyes frantically scoured every inch of him. She wanted to drink in each detail and burn the image in her memory.

A crisp, long sleeve tunic spanned the length of his arms, folded back at the end of his wrists. It was a creamy white, freshly pressed. Over that was the most beautiful and elegant jerkin; a deeply dark green with silver threads that swirled in like of his lyrium markings. It was tied up the chest with a silky black lace. Below, he wore black trousers that neither clung too close to his legs nor sagged in bunches of fabric; they framed his shape just so. Long, leather boots rose up to just under his knee, creased at their tops.

He was a fresh sight, truly the paragon of beauty. And what's more the colors brought out the brightness of his hair and the gem-like qualities of his eyes. Even his hair was primed, loosely slicked back over his head, with a few stray locks falling into his eyes.

Fenris flushed beneath her intent gaze, no doubt gathering that she was admiring him.

"What is the occasion?" she breathed.

The elf's eyes darkened and he offered a hand to help Emma from her seat. She took it with reddening cheeks, feeling a sudden shyness to his change in appearance.

Dropping his voice to a low growl, Fenris leaned in as Emma rose from her chair.

"The woman I love is being married to my enemy today."

A sharp pang in her chest as Emma raised her eyes to meet his. She knew not the best reply, and so remained silent.

Fenris spoke gruffly with a gentle nudge to her back,

"Come."

_She began to shudder, eyes squeezing shut. Her voice was muffled underneath his fingers._

"_I-...I'm…"_

_Fenris leaned to press his lips against her ear. _

"_Come."_

Her legs felt weak underneath the weight of his phantom voice, their night filling her mind and sending curls of lust between her thighs. With a steadying sigh, she stepped forward with determination, pushing aside desire and making room for duty.

vVv

Heavy steps echoed through the long corridor as Fenris followed behind. Emma was unused to hearing his footfalls, as they were usually silent due to their bareness. It was oddly comforting, to listen to him be near.

Emma frequently glanced at his reflection in the abundant mirrors. Normally, she found them excessive and borderline creepy; not today. Emma was rather grateful for their presence as she walked before the enchanting man, stealing peeks at his polished appearance. That hair, messily pushed back, forced his eyes into unobstructed view. So beautiful.

vVv

Countless thoughts ran through the elf's mind. Chaotic, fast, and sharp enough to tear him to shreds. Time was moving all too quickly, every clock teasing him with the impending vows. His Emma would pledge herself to another man, his Emma would promise to remain by his side through all times,_ his _Emma would promise to bless him with a child, _his Emma _would seal her vows with a kiss.

Fenris feared he would vomit during the blood drinking. That would join them completely, and any lusty exchanges thereafter would damn them from eternal bliss in the afterlife. The Maker would shun them, for taking another's woman after the blood drinking is a horrible sin. Nevermind the torture he would receive upon discovery, nor death's cold embrace.

To be shut out from whomever family he had promised to join with in the Forever...all those nights in his suffocating cell and praying for death; he would always vow to be good and see them, whomever they were. A Mother, a Father, maybe siblings. In taking Emma after the blood drinking, he would never see them. And she would never see her father again.

But he loved her. Fenris loved her so much. Was it more painful to imagine a world in life without her than an eternity of misery and torture?

vVv

"Thanron tricked me earlier," Emma sighed with blushing cheeks. "I'm going to throttle him the moment I lay eyes on the little git."

"Mm," came the elf's distant reply.

"Demetri was acting strangely," she continued in a small frown. "Perhaps what I said in Arcanum offended him." No, she shook her head. He had known it was a trick. Maybe he wasn't acting any less amiable than normal. The mage had a foul temperament, after all. "I don't know."

"Mm."

Emma stared ahead in thought, before gasping at the return of a discovery as it popped into her head.

"And did you know Danarius has a _brother_?"

She turned to gage his reaction and paused when she saw his downturned head.

Voice quieter, "What is it?"

Fenris lifted his face and thrust an arm out, hand closing around a door's handle. He reached another hand to grab Emma by the waist before wrenching the door open and pulling her inside. Fenris shoved Emma against the wall, knocking the breath from her lungs, and pinned her body against his.

They were in a guestroom, whose personal belongings scattered the floor. There was no guarantee that they wouldn't come back and discover them. What was Fenris— she was silenced by surprise and wide eyes stared up at him with unspoken questions.

He grabbed her face in firm hands, growling, "Not yet," before his lips came crashing down upon hers. The kiss was rough, more so than any kiss they had shared. Fenris thrust his tongue inside her gasping mouth as she tried to breathe in the overwhelment of it all, exploring the warm walls. The elf bit down on her lip as he rolled his hips against hers, his arousal grazing her sex over their clothes. Emma moaned at the slow roll of pleasure and returned the kiss, tongue meeting his in hungry swirls.

Before she could protest — as if she would _ever _protest — Fenris bunched her dress in a fist and pulled it up to her thighs. Keeping a strong hand wrapped around her arm so that she remained against the wall, he dipped a hand underneath. He then cupped her dampening pleasure through the thin fabric that separated them and applied hurried pressure with his palm. Emma quivered beneath his touch, moaning his name.

"Quiet," he spoke roughly before delving a finger beneath the sodden silk and into her sex. She cried out and the elf clamped a palm to her mouth, though his fingers quickened their ministrations. Alternating between circling the bundle of nerves and pumping inside of her, Fenris whispered sinful phrases into her ear as she rode the waves of pleasure.

"Emma," he murmured, "I want you so much." His voice was shaking.

Feeling a bit bold, Emma repeated the earlier phrase that Thanron had taught her, despite not fully knowing what it meant. It had the desired effect; Fenris turned wild.

He grabbed her by the hips and lifted her from the ground, and she wrapped legs around his waist. Unsheathing himself, Fenris pushed his throbbing member inside her and melted Emma from the inside out, thrusting deep and fast. Emma grinded her hips against his, rising to meet each thrust — as best as she could from her constricted position — and hungrily bit his neck, drawing messy circles with her tongue. The elf grunted at her touch and pumped harder, almost painfully so. He seemed desperate for something. Emma couldn't think anymore beyond that as she began the climb to greater heights. Every wet smacking of their skin sent her into a further heat. The feelings of pleasure were melding together, amplifying, rising. She was going to—

Emma whimpered, forcing her lips shut to stifle the moans, and felt her walls clench around the elf. The pleasure was so great, she writhed against his hold. He gasped at the sudden pressure of Emma's orgasm and hurriedly removed himself from her, strings of semen coating her thighs.

"Maker," he breathed, stiffly holding her body upright and shaking. His eyes drooped before he rested his head against her shoulder, moaning a quiet, "Em-m...ma."

Emma smoothed his hair back, trailing fingernails against his scalp before traveling the length of his neck and over his shoulders.

"Fenris," she whispered back, coaxing his face up and pressing a soft kiss to his lips.

The elf roused from his haze and returned the kiss, slower this time. He gently rolled his lips over hers before murmuring a gravelly, "If you were mine."

"I am," she answered softly.

The elf was still a long moment.

Carefully unwrapping her legs from his waist, Fenris lowered her to the floor.

"In this moment, at least."

Emma tensed, searching his eyes.

"In every moment," she firmly stated. "A stupid wedding does not make me his. Not body _and _soul."

The elf smiled sadly and cupped her cheek, stroking the skin with his thumb.

"It does."

He left her with nothing more. Immediately after, the lost heat turned to a chill that set her teeth to chattering.

"It doesn't," Emma whispered into the empty room. "I am yours."

vVv

"Hey, sunshine."

Mirima dropped her tea-rum to the glass table before her with a loud clatter and all eyes turned to investigate. A hand reached out to quickly fix it right side up before the mess grew any bigger. She stared, frozen in place, as the puddle of rum slowly crept to the table's edge. The hand then plucked Mirima's napkin from her lap and set to mopping it in slow swipes. Pine and rain. The musky scent of pine needles and rain filled her nose.

Above her, he muttered, "Didn't mean t'surprise you." Then, a couple sniffs and she could hear the smile in his voice, "Just how I like my tea." A shuffling before he came into view; a tall, rugged and beautiful man that plopped himself down into the seat beside her. Sodding _him_.

"S'been a while," he grinned, resting an arm against the glass. "You're all grown up!"

She winced at the exclamation, feeling very much a child.

"I remember when you were just a pup, trailin' my every step."

Mirima ground her teeth and reached for her tea cup before remembering with fierce annoyance that it was now soaked up into a napkin. She slowly poked it with her finger, watching golden brown liquid collect around its end.

"Still sing?"

A cordial inquiry, but it couldn't have driven her further into vexation. Feeling a warmth coat her face, she glanced up at him, squinting a smile that felt more in like of a grimace.

"Not really, no."

The man's thick brows pulled together, a touch of sadness in his eyes. "That's a pity," he protested softly, "you've a beautiful voice."

Mirima grimace-smiled again, feeling that indescribable pain spread throughout her chest and belly. The one she had thought to be relieved of, back like a rash.

This man…

vVv

_Miri scrambled across the court, tripping over creeping weeds and not paying heed to the cuts they imparted her. Who cared about bloody knees when _he _was coming? Here again, at last. He was holding a bag over his shoulder, no doubt full of presents for the elves. Maybe one for her, too. _

_Once they locked eyes, Miri's ser flashed a big, shining smile and bent to lay his bag down and stretch his arms out. Miri collided with him and her ser grunted with a laugh and she wrapped arms around his neck and Miri cried, she was so happy. _

"_I missed you!"_

"_Me too, sunshine."_

vVv

Mirima felt tears prick behind her eyes, and glanced away before he could detect them. He was a fool. A hopeless fool.

vVv

En bustled about, as she always did. Fussing over every little detail. A touch of lace here, a silky ribbon there, a snipping all over; and so on. Emma, who was normally absorbed in the process, silently stared at the grooves in her palms and twisted her fingers.

What Fenris had said in the guestroom; it frightened her. He had to know she was his. What mattered beyond that? Even after sharing vows with another, he had to understand that they were empty of true meaning. Emma loved Fenris. She breathed the name and sighed the name. The elf made this matrimony bearable, he would be close by; watching and waiting for stolen minutes together. That is what she had hoped. Was that selfish?

Did the elf deem marriage as sacred as the ceremony painted it to be? Divine and holy? Did Fenris think it a horrible sin for her to break vows, lacking or no in love? Emma prayed not. Surely, the Maker would not prefer them to suffer when they could cling to this shred of happiness. Not simply because she had pledged herself to another man in mere words.

Emma had not felt the weight until now. Realization was coming, hard and fast. Reality.

She was being married to Danarius.

It had not seemed so bad. Bad, yes. But not _so _bad. There was always Fenris. Now, there was a possibility that there wouldn't be. It had not seemed this bad! Emma swallowed a sob, eyes still focused on her now trembling hands.

She had been so naive to think everything was fine. The elf had been carrying this burden alone while she was off dining and giggling about the castle like a...child. And here it was; _now _she saw. Emma bit back anger sob, closing her hands into fists.

"All done," En chirped, though her hands still flew about like she was in the thick of it. "You'll be stealin' their noble breath away, you will."

Emma lifted her face and En started, features furrowing into concern.

"My, what's wrong—?"

A knock at the door cut the seamstress short, and Emma stepped down from the stool she had been standing upon.

"C-come in," she stammered.

Tarma appeared as she swung the door open, flustered hands urging her forward.

"What in Maker's name is taking—?"

The elf's face slackened in awe as she stared at Emma for a long moment, who shifted uncomfortably beneath study.

"You look like a dream," Tarma breathed, holding a hand to her chest. Recollecting herself, the elf launched back into her scolding. "What's taking you?" she hissed before glaring accusingly at the seamstress, who promptly held her hands out in defense.

"She was late in comin'!"

The elf rolled her eyes, "Oh, you and your _particulars_."

Tarma thrust a hand out, wrapping it around Emma's wrist, and pulled her through the door's opening.

Here it was.

vVv

_Fadargen here. I am beyond tired. It's 4:15 AM...I love writing this story. _

_ Enjoy. Thank you so much for the feedback, you're the reason I'm still at it!_


	58. The Final Ritual

_Before reading this chapter, just remember the prologue. It will bring some comfort to those of you who are hair pulling right about now. _

vVv

They hurried down corridors that were empty of life, no slave, guard or wandering guest in sight. All the elves were either in the kitchen, making last minute preparations for the feast, or assisting outside, where the ceremony was to take place. The castle seemed freshly abandoned; she had never been unable to hear at least the shuffling of feet, or a broom's swishing, or hushed voices, or _anything _at all. The silence made the panicked voice in her head scream louder. Emma winced as it threw question after insult after demand to the walls of her head. It pounded upon impact and she grew dizzy with anxiety.

_You did this! _it wailed, _You, you! Fenris warned and warned, but you didn't listen. You were nice to him and now you're marrying him. You talked to him, you didn't fight his advances, you did this. _

Her heart would surely burst into a million pieces in its swollen throbbing. Aches that spread to her belly. She searched for a nearby plant to empty her stomach into. No, no, keep going. Tarma's hand was still tight around her wrist, but now it was drawing circles into the veins. Attempts to console. A pity she was so far past any possibility of being consoled.

_Run away, run away._

Emma would not make it. Outside waited a gathering of Tevinter's finest blood mages and necromancers. Emma would not reach halfway to the gates before they stopped her. And she could not leave Fenris, even if it were possible. The elf was bound to Danarius, both magically and mentally; he could not follow her anyway.

And then they were in the entrance hall, approaching the broad doors that led to her misery. Thicker shackles, tighter around her wrists. She could hear music beyond the doors and blinked at the sound. Two servants stepped to wrap hands around the doors' handles. Opened them wide. Emma gulped at a final breath to steady herself. A bouquet of dark red roses were pushed into her hands and she gripped them for dear life.

The music greeted Emma, a soft melody that coaxed her feet onto the steps. She inhaled at the sight before her...

vVv

The elf inhaled at the sight of her, along with every one of the guests and the groom, himself.

She was adorned in a sleek, white dress that clung to her body in a silky embrace. Soft and elegant. Sleeves of intricate lace travelled the length of her arms, from just below her shoulder to her wrist. The human took slow, stricken steps. Fenris ached to see her face. The gravity of her situation must have finally set in, for the brown eyes had hollowed and the glowing skin had dimmed. She was scared. It hurt him to see it. But he couldn't look away. He would never look away. That much at least, he was free to do.

Stomach aching, body seizing, palms clamming, heart clenching.

_Mine._

vVv

Snow fell from the sky in slow, gentle flakes. It illuminated the white and red roses that bloomed across the aisle, and gently fell against the silken cloth that led her to the alter. Where he waited, hands clasped behind his back. Smiling like there was a very good reason to do so.

Emma stepped and stepped, passing the many staring faces. She trained her eyes on the magister. She didn't want to see the elf, fearing she would crumple into a mess of tears the moment their eyes met. No, she stayed focused on Danarius.

The magister was dressed in a very similar outfit to Fenris, except the color of his jerkin was coal and he wore a black coat over that. He was primped for the occasion, as well, though his hair still fell into his pale eyes. They watched her closely, smiling every bit as much as his mouth.

Finally, her sad march ended as she reached the altar and he held out a hand to assist her up the small steps. She accepted it with contained reluctance, dipping fingers inside his. His were warm, and immediately set to drawing circles of comfort into her skin. Just as Tarma had done. A strange feeling. Like receiving an affectionate lick from a beast just before it ate you alive.

From here, she knew not what to expect and payed what attention she could muster, with her wandering thoughts. Tevinter wedding customs were a bit different from the ones practiced in Fereldon. Tevinters were more focused on ritual than Emma was accustomed to.

The Chantry Mother who stood before them bowed her head. Emma followed Danarius's actions, who swiftly held out a hand to her. The Mother swiped a finger over theirs and waited as they each pressed them to their lips. Next, she opened a very worn leather book and began to read practiced lines.

"Today, we witness the joining of these two souls beneath the watchful gaze of our Maker…"

Emma could not stay attentive through so much as the first line. A sadness welled in her chest that threatened to spill past her eyes. She clamped the hand Danarius had not claimed into a fist, fingernails biting into her flesh. He knew her feelings. She raised her face to stare at him and he immediately set his eyes upon hers. Why was he making her do this?

vVv

That look in those ambers; confusion, anger, and sadness. The life was still there, burning hot and bright beneath the layer of upset. She was not happy with him.

_I'm sorry_, he wanted to say. _I'm sorry that I need you_. _I'm sorry that I am weak._

If there was any other way for him to climb out of the darkness, he would jump from the altar and run to it. He didn't want to force her into this just as much as she didn't want to be forced into it. It was beyond his control. Danarius was suffocating on himself, and choking on the demon claws that slid down his throat. Emma brought him relief, and more; the hope of recovery. He needed her.

"If anyone would like to protest against this joining, now is the time to do so…"

vVv

She closed her eyes and willed a voice to cry out their dissent. Anyone. Larus, Mirima, Demetri, Fenris, _Papa. _But she knew none of them could; it was out of their hands. Emma felt faint and leaned her weight on the magister, who surreptitiously wrapped an arm around her waist to hold Emma upright.

The Mother's words fell on Emma's deaf ears. Instead, she focused her attention on standing upright and breathing, which took almost all of it. Danarius gently stroked her waist and squeezed her hand. He seemed fully aware of what he was doing, and tried his best to comfort her. Emma didn't know if encouragement during something like this was kind or cruel. She supposed, like Danarius himself, it was a mixture of both.

"Do you, Danarius van Malthas Vanasidhion, wish to be joined with Emma Hawke? And do you vow to love her through all times— ?"

"I do," Danarius immediately answered.

Next, the Mother turned to Emma, and it was then that she first noted her look of disapproval. Well, no matter, Emma was in thorough agreement that they should not be married.

"Do you, Emma Hawke, wish to be joined with Danarius van Malthas Vanasidhion? And do you vow to love him through all times ?"

Emma stared at her a long moment before nodding once and whispering, "I do."

The Mother concealed a small sigh beneath the turning of a page, before glancing at Danarius.

"Will you present the rings?"

Danarius's arm stayed around Emma as he released her hand and dipped fingers inside the pocket of his coat. He pulled out two thin, silver bands; one with three modest diamonds at its middle. The arm around her waist prodded her arm to raise and Emma did so in a daze. Danarius carefully slid the ring with stones onto her finger. He then dropped the other ring into her palm and Emma numbly did the same, pushing the thin band around his finger.

"Now, let us begin the final ritual," the Mother said, unsheathing a dagger than had been contained around her waist. Emma flinched, taking a small step back and nearly falling down the stairs. Danarius steadied her, grip tightening with hands stroking her arm and waist.

The Mother motioned to Danarius, who swiftly laid his hand— palm facing up— into hers. Producing a silver goblet, she deftly held it beneath his wrist before slicing it in one movement. Blood oozed from the slash, not deep enough to greatly harm him, but deep enough to bleed a lot. The Mother passed a hand over his wrist when he had dispensed enough blood, and the cut was gone. Only the smattering of blood proved it had ever been there.

The Mother gestured for Emma to provide her hand next, who promptly shook her head. Sighing, the Mother reached to grab her hand, closing cold, bony fingers around her wrist. Emma whimpered when the knife neared her skin.

"Wait— Danarius, I—"

The woman slashed her wrist, and blood immediately flowed from it in long streams. Emma blanched, unable to look away.

"That was too deep," Danarius hissed at the Mother.

She sniffed with raised brows, "Accident," holding Emma's wrist over the goblet in a tight grip that pushed blood even faster out of her arm. The world was blurring and Emma was becoming numb all over.

"That is more than enough!" the magister snapped, gingerly grabbing Emma's arm and pulling it out of the Mother's grip. "She'll faint."

He quickly set to healing it himself, though a bit clumsily. His fingers were shaking and the blue light from his palm flickered with the same unease. Emma's cut became thinner and ceased its bleeding, but it still hissed with pain. "Larus will see to the rest," he murmured to her, passing the Mother a fierce glare.

The Mother smirked and closed her eyes, chanting in Arcanum with hands cupping the bloody goblet. Emma watched white snowflakes drift into the goblet and rest upon the blood's surface, before melting into its warmth. Speaking a few final words, the Mother delivered the goblet to Danarius's free hand.

Emma watched in horror as Danarius brought the cup to his lips and drew a long gulp from its depths. Blood painted his lips when he lowered the goblet and poised it before Emma's mouth. She glanced up at him in disbelief. His eyes held sincere apology, happiness gone from his features. Somewhere small and insignificant in the back of Emma's mind, she felt pity for Danarius; that he had to be so guilt ridden on his wedding day.

She parted her lips and Danarius carefully tipped the remainder of its contents past them. Emma didn't breathe, knowing that she would gag and empty her stomach if she did. She gulped down their blood, mingled together. When the last drop slid down her throat, something stirred inside of her. Memories, a warmth— they crawled up her chest.

"You are now joined as one. Danarius, you may kiss your bride."

He gently cupped her cheeks in his hands, and lowered bloodstained lips to hers.

vVv

And with that, Emma was no longer his. Fenris turned away to hide the tear that ran down his cheek. Even looking in the human's direction would now fill him with agony. For this day on, Emma would—

vVv

_...love him. I love him. _

Emma stared up at Danarius with quivering lips. She shook her head at him, eyes filling with tears.

"No," she whispered, still shaking her head. "no, no…" Emma closed her eyes, where images of him awaited her. Suddenly, all she could think of was him, no matter how much she desperately fought it.

_ Emma's captor pushed her to the front of the dining hall, where a man sat at the head of the table. Though the table could have seated forty people and fed one hundred, he was alone. The man wore lavish robes of navy silk, a beast's' hide draped around his shoulders._

_ "You're the girl who has willinging stumbled into my lair, hm?"_

"Oh," Emma whimpered.

_ They sat at the fountain for a very long time, watching clouds shift across the sky in a peaceful silence. Emma's eyes soaked the shapes and colors all around her like a thirsty sponge. She was so grateful to this man, whether he had good or bad intentions, whether he was cruel or kind. He gave her a gift that she would cherish forever. Emma could be locked away in the castle for the rest of her stay, as long as she had these memories to call on. _

"_Thank you," she sighed. "That was perfect."_

_Danarius let out a long breath and rose from his seat. "Come." It was an order, but it didn't carry the weight of authority. The word was soft on his lips._

She shook her head and moved away from his consoling hands. _No. _

"_Well?" Danarius pressed eagerly, eyes intent on her face. _

"_It's incredible," she answered dreamily. She gazed about the room, drinking in the sight. "It's-how did you obtain so many?"_

"_I collect," he explained, leading her to a nearby shelf. Danarius passed a hand over the many spines and plucked one from its position. "And I inherited a good many. This book," he paused to stroke its cover. "It's my favorite."_

"_In this whole room?" Emma marveled._

"_Yes." _

"_That one, in your hand. Out of the thousands."_

_Danarius laughed softly and pushed the book into her hands. "Take it," he said. "Read it."_

_Emma peered at its title which read Ears of Time and stared up at the magister in awe. Why was he being so kind to her? Did he truly want her? Emma began to wonder if it wouldn't be horrible, being wanted by this man. If being his would mean trips to the library and the gardens, perhaps she should like it very much._

"_I don't know what to say," she said, her voice barely over a whisper. "Thank you doesn't seem enough."_

"_It is enough," the magister promised. He turned to leave the room. "Take any others if you wish. Whenever."_

She bolted from the steps and ran down the aisle, unseeing.

Vaguely, she heard Danarius call out her name. But she didn't stop, and thank the maker, nobody stopped her. Emma ran, tripping over her shoes as they left her feet, and scrambled up the stairs. She shoved past the door's guards and wrenched them open herself. Once inside, she ran to the slaves' quarters and began down the stairs. All at once, Emma dropped against the stone steps and hugged its banister, sobbing as more memories filled her mind.

_Stretching and rolling his shoulders, Danarius passed Emma a confident grin._

"_Hello."_

"_Hello, master."_

"_Oh, don't start calling me that now," he laughed. "Danarius will do, since you insist on removing my proper title."_

"_Danarius, then."_

Emma clasped a hand to her mouth, rising with effort, and slowly stepped down the remaining stairs. Her hand gripped the banister tight.

_He gently tugged the book from Emma's fingers, and opened its covers, the pages whispering the story's awakening. "Beautiful book," he murmured, turning the pages in thought. "Sensual, honest, a bit strange…," Danarius let out a breathy laugh, relishing a private joke. _

_Emma jerked in surprise as Danarius dropped the novel to the ground with a loud smack. She lifted her head up to search the man's face and was met with a pair of lips crashing against her open mouth. Emma gasped against the aggressive flesh, eyes wide with shock. Danarius brought one hand to the back of her neck, the other around her waist, and crushed her flush against his body. He pressed his lips tighter against hers, tongue brushing her bottom lip. Emma leaned away at the wet intrusion, back slamming against books. Danarius was bent inches away from her face, eyes staring fixedly on her swollen lips. _

She slowly crossed the long, dark corridor, hand pressed against the wall as she passed.

_Emma glared at him and he chuckled again before claiming her pouting lips. His kiss was more urgent, more forceful. His teeth grazed her lips as he opened his mouth wider against hers, drawing his tongue inside with more purpose than before. Emma stiffened as his tongue met with hers again and she tried to turn away, but the magister turned with her. His hands snaked to her waist, massaging over the dress with his knuckles. Emma frowned at the gesture with a blush. It felt good._

Emma's knees were weak by the time she reached the door of her old chambers. She pulled it open and forced her body inside. Upon pulling the door closed, Emma was bombarded with the memories in full and she collapsed to the floor in a crying, heaping mess.

_Finally, they neared the broad, carpeted staircase that trailed into the main hall. Danarius paced at its end, eyes following his feet with each stride. His hair was freshly trimmed and the peppered whiskers along his jaw were now a memory. The lack of his beard caused him to appear ten years younger. More so, as his features spread into childlike ecstasy when he spotted them._

_He sped up the stairs, a wide grin on his face, and crashed into Emma with a force that would have knocked her over, had the elf's arm not reached out to steady her. The magister didn't notice a fraction as he buried his face in Emma neck, heaving an elated sigh. His arms wound around her body and melded her to him._

She pounded her fist against her head, attempting to beat away each thought before it entered her mind. To no avail.

"_Be that as it may," Emma began with a sigh before frowning in thought. _

_Danarius leaned forward, "Yes?"_

_Emma leaned back, blushing at his nearness. He was rather beautiful when he wanted to __be. When he wasn't strange, or moody, or mean, or confusing; he was quite charming. She had actually begun to sort of like the lines that crinkled about his eyes when he laughed. And the squareness of his stubbled jaw was rather...handsome. Sometimes. And his eyes were the purest blue, almost iridescent in any light. His hair, which she noticed had been cut short just before his leave to Minrathous, framed his brow in a very pleasing manner. It fell into his eyes, and he constantly shook it away when he carried out a task. Emma liked it when he did that._

Emma crawled across the cold room, ashamed by the warmth that had spread between her legs. She climbed into her old cot and cried uncontrollably until her voice was rough and scratched against each whimper.

"_Thank you, my flower. I really needed that."_

His voice filled her mind, so soft and loving that she almost felt his hand along her back, stroking her hair as he always did.

_She murmured against the fabric of his tunic, "Needed what?"_

Emma stared up at the ceiling in a daze, and finally scummbed to the memories that continued to play and replay in her foggy mind.

"_To smile."_

She whispered against all the voices and they ceased their chanting to listen.

"Yes, fine," Emma whimpered. "You win."

_She loved him. _

vVv

Fenris reached a hand out to catch a single snowflake as it drifted just before him. He closed his fingers around the flake, and felt the small tingle of coldness on his skin. Opening his palm, he watched the tiny drop of water slide between the cracks.

"Emma."

vVv

_The theme for Emma's drinking of the goblet, and her feelings thereafter. _

_Dustin O'Halloran - (An) What is Unknown_

_I really enjoyed writing this chapter. Please, tell me what is going through your head right now. I need reactions for such a crazy turn of events. _


	59. How could you?

vVv

Emma felt like a deviled egg when she rose from the cot. Hollowed of its natural filling and then stuffed with a mutated version. No time to feel the void before it was crammed with something unnatural. Emma's gaze fell to her wrist, still throbbing with pain, and to the blood that smeared down her palms.

Everything had shifted; everything she had known prior to the blood...the final ritual. Emma was not stupid; she knew what had been done to her. She wanted an explanation, and she was going to get one.

The voices had left her mind as soon as the message was delivered in full, and when she acknowledged the tightness inside her chest— when Emma admitted her feelings. She released a shaking sigh and stepped to the basin that sat in the room's corner. The water was stagnant, covered with a film of dust and dead bugs; it had not been changed since she moved out of her room. Emma didn't care, because it would wash away the blood from her palms. Taking care not to get the dirty water into the cut, Emma soaked her hands until they were unstained. Blood still saturated her laced sleeves and all around the wound, but blood free hands were a start.

For a time, Emma breathed in slowly through her nose and then out past her lips.

And then she left her room, carrying the changed stuffing in her chest. She was different, and there was no hiding from it. So, she ambled down the corridor and wiped away the tears. Chin up, shoulders back, small smile in place.

vVv

Larus shook his head as he stared up at his friend with sad eyes.

"I won't say that what you did was wrong," the healer murmured, "because you know it."

vVv

Danarius was waiting for her in the entrance hall; hands shoved in his pockets. She closed her fingers into fists when her heart did an insulting flip inside her chest, as if to mock her new feelings. Dangle them in front of her face. She kept the smile in place, despite the white hot anger that was beginning to boil inside of her.

The magister looked drained of all the happiness that had earlier marked his features. Had the ritual not gone the way he had hoped? Had he expected her gratitude? The promise of a son? He spoke to Larus in hushed tones, and did not noticed her across the room.

Two others stood with him; Larus and the elf.

Fenris.

Emma felt nothing upon seeing his face, and the realization struck her more than the feeling itself. Not only was she now in love with the magister, but the feelings she had carried for Fenris had been robbed from her mind. Hollowed and restuffed.

vVv

Their eyes met... and nothing.

No light, no twinkle, no flush that crawled the length of her neck, no shy smile, no teeth that pressed against her bottom lip. Just a glance. The kind one might pass over an acquaintance. Or a plant.

Fenris watched her eyes then turn to Danarius.

There was the light.

Though she didn't bite her lip or try to hide a smile; fire had begun to burn behind the ambers. Seeing them forced the elf's gaze downward, to the foreign objects that covered his feet.

vVv

Larus met her gaze and murmured something under his breath to Danarius, who turned with wide eyes. He began to smile, but stopped short when reality caught up to his face. Back to guilt, back to regret. Emma was happy to see them in his eyes; the man deserved every ounce of pain he was feeling.

"Emma," he began in a breath, "I...thought I was…," and shook his head as words failed him.

She smiled up at him and he frowned in confusion at the sight.

"Doing me a favor?"

Danarius nodded eagerly, gripping the chance to be understood. He seemed astonished, seemed to think she might not be angry at him, perhaps even that it had worked as he planned, after all.

"I was forcing you to marry me," he continued quickly, unable to get it out fast enough, "and I knew you were frightened and rather sad about it. But no matter how thorough my attempts, I can't bare the thought of...so I thought it would help if you…" Danarius shook his head, momentarily tongue tied again.

"Loved you?" she finished with that steady smile.

Danarius nodded, more slowly this time.

"It isn't a popular ritual, many think it barbaric. It— it is. But it helps in arranged marriages…" His eyes dropped to her wrist, no doubt drawn by its bright redness against the white. "Larus, would you take a look at her—?"

"I'm fine for the moment," Emma answered, pulling her arm behind her back. The constant sting was a beacon of light in the muddled mess inside her head. Whenever she began to forget that her love had been forced, the ache of her wound would provide a sharp reminder. "So you thought it appropriate to go through with this," she pressed on, "without my consent— granted, I am a slave— and surprise me at the altar?"

The magister shifted uncomfortably, "I didn't think—"

"Exactly," Emma interjected, holding up her uninjured arm, "you didn't. If you _had _been thinking," she took slow steps closer, placing herself within arm's reach of him, "surely, you would have made the realization that this was a terrible idea."

Danarius blinked, opening his mouth again and closing it as Emma held up her hand again to silence him.

"I was going to marry you. Fearfully, yes. But your bride, nonetheless. I told you with conviction, dear husband," she smiled with a hint of satisfaction as Danarius flinched upon hearing the title, "that I did not _hate _you. You have taken many freedoms from me."

He cut in with an indignant frown, "I have _given _you many that other magisters would not—"

Emma's voice remained even, borderline pleasant.

"I know, Danarius. But you must agree that you have taken many, as well." She waited expectantly as he nodded. "My feelings were a freedom I never expected to be taken by you. And though I now love you…"

She pulled her fist back and thrust it forward, feeling relief immediately flood her veins as it collided with his cheek. Danarius stumbled back a couple steps, wide eyes trained on Emma. He waved a dismissive hand to Fenris as the elf began to advance on her.

"And though I now love you," she repeated, smile gone from her face, "I feel every bit of hate along with it." Emma glared at him, spitting out each word as it burned her tongue. "I hadn't hated you before. Your blood magic did more harm than good." Tears filled her eyes and she brought her fist back again. Fenris snatched it just before it met with the magister's nose, growling in warning. "My head is mine," she shouted at Danarius as she attempted to free her hand from the elf's grip, "you cannot claim it!"

Danarius ran hands through his hair in exasperation.

"That is what you fail to grasp," he replied shortly, "I can."

Larus sighed, "Danarius—"

"You can't!" Emma continued to shout, "It isn't fair! None of the others bear the burden of loving you! Just because you love me doesn't mean I should be forced to feel the same!"

The magister's patience snapped, "It does! I've done everything but set you free," he yelled, thrusting a thumb to himself, "I've given you so much! And you continue to treat me like a monster! I just wanted— "

"_You are!" _Emma's face heated with anger as she hollered at him, "_You're a monster! You've enslaved me, strangled me, you've forced yourself on me— "_

His face twisted in pain, voice dropping.

"That wasn't always me—"

_"And now— " _Emma clapped a free hand to her mouth, tears spilling down her face, _"_I_—"_

vVv

Danarius nodded at Fenris and the elf released her, wincing at the bleeding scratches along his arm that she had left him.

vVv

_"_Now, I_—" _Emma stepped toward the magister again. But this time, she reached arms to wrap around his waist. Pressing her face into his jerkin, Emma sobbed, "How could you?"

The magister ached as he wound her up in an embrace.

"I was scared," he whispered into her hair, "that you would leave. Leave me to do this on my own."

Emma pushed a hand against his chest and stared up into his eyes, "Do what?"

vVv

_Danarius laid his things upon the thin blanket: his favorite book, a pen and ink, parchment, and a leather pouch of fifty gold coins. He folded them all up into the confines of his blanket and tied it into a messy knot. The blood that coated his fumbling fingers made him pause around the fabric. _

_He squeezed his eyes shut, grabbing the sack, and turned to leave the room. _

_Danarius began to cross the room and tripped over his mother's mangled corpse. He met with her dead eyes and whimpered at the sight._

"_Mother," he whispered feebly, reaching a hand to cup the cheek that was covered in the warmth of her blood. "I'll rule." The promise tingled on his tongue, pushed the streams of tears from his eyes. "I'll rule Tevinter and you'll be proud of me."_

_Danarius slowly stood, swiping an arm across his eyes. _

"_I'll be Archon."_

vVv

Danarius shook his head, dismissing Emma's inquiry.

"It does not matter right now," he spoke softly. Raising his head to glance at the ballroom doors, he winced. "You don't want to continue with the-"

He stopped short when Emma quickly shook her head and seized his hand.

"No, no—" her eyes darted from his to the ballroom, "I'd very much like to continue with the festivities."

Not entirely truthful. Festivities be damned, Emma just wanted a drink in her hand. And a distraction from the steaming pile of dung this day had turned out to be. Danarius seemed none the wiser of her true motive, for he sputtered in surprise.

"Are you certain?" he asked, squeezing her hand, "It's perfectly understandable if you wish to retire—"

"I'm certain," Emma gave him a weary smile.

vVv

Mirima hid her scowl behind a teacup as she brought it to her lips.

"Kind of you to join me," she muttered as Addis sat himself down beside her. Mirima had been watching the others dance from her safe distance before the fire. Where the more quiet and less active mages placed themselves. She was neither, but for today. To avoid drawing attention from the man who sought her, regardless. "Again," she added before sipping her rum.

He made a face as if she had spoken in tongues and turned his head to scan the room's occupants.

"Don't dance anymore, either?

Maybe it was the rum, or maybe it was the annoyance of the day's every aspect, or maybe she was just sick of being agreeable all the damn time. Or maybe it was just him. The past. But she slammed her cup down upon the table and bit the reply, "Do not presume to know me as you once did. For I am changed. I am no longer a child. I am no longer your "sunshine" and you are no longer my "ser". Now, I am Mirima, and you are Lord Addis— apparently— and that is all. Understand?"

Addis stared at her in unmasked bewilderment, watching the lips that released the outburst and seemingly fearful of another.

"Understood," He spoke after a prolonged silence. Rising slowly from his seat, Addis held out a hand to her. "Care to dance, Lady Mirima?"

"I would not," she cried, smacking the table for emphasis. "I've told you—"

His palm inched closer. Insistent, yet gentle.

"Heard ya, loud 'n clear."

The man smiled with a soft warmth, the way he always did to disperse of the angry cloud she settled into. Her lip began to quiver at the sight and tears stung behind her eyes. Unlike she, he was entirely unchanged.

vVv

_She felt strong arms pull her into a familiar embrace and she cried harder when the scent of pine needles and rain washed over her face. _

"_He loves you," the rough voice promised into her ear. "Kid's just got a lot on his mind, is all. But he'll always be your big brother." The hand began to stroke Mirima's hair, hushing each sob with a gentle kiss to her brow. "I know better'n anyone what you're goin' through. S'tough."_

"_You're brother's mean, too," she sniffed, pulling back to meet his gaze. Mirima had seen the way Lord Danarius spoke to his younger brother. Short and quick, like a knife. No more words than absolutely necessary. Just like Demetri. _

_He smiled at her sadly and she reached a hand to cup his cheek and rub away the hurting in his head. Placing his hand over hers, Ser said, "Not mean— just scared. Our brothers have been through troubles 'n carry the bad memories on their backs."_

"_He's always reminding me that I'm only half a sister to him," she whimpered. "That we aren't close, like full siblings, because we have different mothers."_

_Ser nodded his head in understanding before shaking it softly, hair brushing his eyes. _

"_Your brother doesn't mean that. Mine used to say the same for our different mothers, but I know he doesn't mean it, either." He tucked a stray lock behind her ear. "But until they realize that, I'll be your stand in Demetri."_

_Mirima giggled. They were so different, how could he? Still, she very much liked the idea. _

"_And I'll be your Lord Danarius," she promised in return. _

_Ser chuckled and gave her a great big, bear hug. _

"_Thanks, sunshine."_

vVv

Mirima shook away the memory as it heated her face.

"You'll have to find a new stand in," she spoke curtly. "As I did."

Addis winced, dropping his gaze to the palm, still stretched toward her. She flinched as he placed it on her shoulder before shrugging his fingers away.

"Couldn't stay," he whispered. "Sorry I couldn't be there."

Mirima clenched at her cup, staring hard at its design without really seeing a trace of it. Her voice shook when she spoke.

"You abandoned a little girl who depended on you."

Addis was silent for so long that Mirima glanced up to see if he had taken his leave. They met eyes and she could see the sorrow and nearly lost her resolve. Nearly forgave him. Nearly.

"I know," he answered softly. "Dance with me."

Mirima hadn't realized she had been trapping a breath until it expelled past her lips. Her hand moved of its own accord, but she would curse it later. For now, she watched her fingers slip to rest against his palm. Watched his fingers wrap around them. He was smiling at her. A bit less sadly.

Then she remembered the smile he tossed her on that horrid day. Like the last bone meal to a starving dog. Fetch that and wither peacefully, the smile said, I give you no more. Damn him if he believed she would set herself up for another disappointment. She quickly retracted her hand.

"You will have to extend that privilege to another lady, Lord Addis."

He dropped his hand, a touch of vexation on his face.

"I'm no Lord."

"Then," Mirima heaved a sharp sigh, glancing away, "I am afraid you cannot ask the Archon's daughter to a waltz."

"Maker," Addis spoke softly, "you _are _changed."

Mirima raised her teacup, eyes flitting up to his.

"To which I credit you."

Addis looked stricken and his sunkissed skin visibly paled more and more by the second. Taking a step back, he uttered,

"Ah."

Mirima paused at the torment in his eyes. Twice had she seen him wear such an expression. Once, the day his beloved elven woman left him upon his freeing her. And the other— it was a bit fuzzy. But he had seemed as tormented then as he did now, whatever it was.

Surprisingly, it did not bring her satisfaction to see his discomfort. In fact, it stirred about just the opposite inside her chest. She dismissed the sentiment with another drag from her cup and dropped her gaze.

Addis released a breath above her.

"G'night, milady."

And then the sound of retreating steps. Slow, and heavy. Well, there you have it. She sipped again.

Mirima raised her head after long moments had passed. No Addis in sight, to her relief. That had been a rather uncomfortable reunion. She should feel lucky to never speak to him again.

Now, for something less depressing. Her eyes trained on the lovely Emma. Mirima wasn't the only one drinking away the horridness of the day. Emma was tossing glasses back like they were carrying water and not Aggregio. Mirima would intervene if she wasn't drowning her own sorrow.

vVv

"Perhaps _that _glass should be your last, my flower."

Danarius spoke carefully, as one would with an ill tempered child. Hmmph. She was no child. Taking long gulps, she stared at him with resentment over the glass's edge. The magister did not bat an eyelash. Rather, he mirrored the look with one of his own. Positively devilish, he was— ugh. These thoughts, could she not drown them already? They persisted in crowding her mind like an infection.

"I'm feeling a bit tired," he hinted flatly, eyes following her hand as they reached to refill her glass. "And I think you are, too."

"I am not!" she cried, pouring away. He winced as the wine sloshed beneath her unsteady hand. "It isn't a quarter to midnight!" Emma brought the glass to her lips and gasped in surprise when a hand flashed out to snatch it. A disgruntled Danarius placed it before his plate, out of her reach. When she sighed and grabbed at a new glass, he gave her such glare that it prompted her to cease all attempts. Again, Emma felt like a child.

Oh, well. She would find more later. For now, she was positively spinning. Before long, the sadness would melt away into warmth.

"Let us dance," Emma smiled, reaching for his fingers. He drew them away, resting an elbow upon the table and laying his chin upon his hand.

"What?"

"As I said, I am tired," he grumbled, glancing away. "But do not let me spoil your evening any further." Waving a hand behind himself to the elf that stood there, "Take Fenris. He's presentable and knows every number; might as well take advantage."

Emma met eyes with the elf, who looked ready to run in the opposite direction. She rose from the table, "Yes, alright, thank you. Do come, if you regain an ounce of energy—"

"I heavily doubt that," Danarius sighed.

Emma felt a small prick of sadness and she lowered her voice.

"Well, I would take much pleasure in dancing with you, so…" she flushed and turned away. "Come along, Fenris."

vVv

Such disappointment in her voice! That the occasion of dancing with him brought her distaste...when she could be dancing with _Danarius. _Fenris had watched the magister respond to her words, and even smile softly as he stared upon her retreating back. What lovebirds! What a manufactured lie. The elf was ready to break something. Into a million bloody pieces.

_"I enjoyed our dance," Emma smiled. _

_ He glanced up at the human, swallowing painfully at the chunk of bread. His heart leapt at the words. Turning his gaze back to his bread so she could not see his flush, Fenris muttered,_

_ "Me, as well."_

And now she was going to be dancing with him, quite literally against her will. Fenris wanted to be the object that he would break into a million pieces. He wanted to be anywhere but next to this girl. Wanted to feel any other kind of pain than the relentless throbbing inside his chest. It stole his breath. How was he to dance? Let him go back to happy times. Damn this.

She glanced back at him on their way to the dancefloor, like he were a dog that wouldn't obey.

"Come along, Fenris, what hinders you so?"

_Maker. _He was paying for their sins. He was paying in full. The Maker wasn't going to be gentle with him.

"Apologies," he murmurred.

When they reached the spot, Fenris dutifully placed a hand to her waist and collected her fingers in his. The human wasted no time. As soon as they began the first step, she was down to business.

"I suppose now is as good a time as any," she began with a sigh. "Things have changed."

Fenris swallowed the lump in his throat. This was torture. He concentrated on the steps, and on being a man that crushed his sorrow in the presence of his mistress. His mistress.

"Yes," was all he could manage.

Emma was without mercy, "I no longer love you, I'm sorry."

Fenris felt her gaze, expectant. She was waiting for another reply? He swallowed again and prayed that his voice would remain even.

"Yes."

She gasped and Fenris faltered steps.

"Did I do that?"

He followed her gaze to the claw marked arm that held her hand.

"I'm fine," he answered. The irony was not lost on him.

She turned her eyes back to his, refocusing, "I must ask that you regard me as no more than—… than—"

Fenris did her the favor in putting it bluntly, "My mistress."

She tensed beneath his hand, answering, "Well, I wouldn't go that far." The human cleared her throat and attempted to word things eloquently. "I'm still me, really, just—...I feel the same way about slavery and such. We can be fri—"

Despite his efforts, Fenris lost control of his emotions. Not in the way he expected, however. He lowered his sharp gaze to hers. She seemed surprised by his anger.

"Forgive me, mistress, but I would prefer distance."

Anger. Fenris considered it as he raised his eyes back over her head. Well, he supposed anger was better than sadness. In this occasion, at least. His chest still ached like the devil beat against it, himself. But anger helped.

He felt Emma shrug.

"As you like, then."

Fenris flashed her a bitter smile. Such a deviation this dance had become to their first. It had the potential to be comical if it weren't gut-wrenchingly dreadful.

"Spin."

vVv

_I hope you aren't too upset. Keep reading, anyways! A drama isn't a drama without drama. I'll start adding replies to your reviews in these annotations, if you've any questions or specific things you'd like to say to me. Or damn me for tearing them apart. I'm sorry!_

_ The Crane Dance - Ludovico Einaudi_

_ This song perfectly embodies the sadness in Fenris during this chapter._


	60. Give them a lot

vVv

Demetri watched her face carefully, weighing each of its lifts and pulls. How largely did the ritual influence her? How much had she changed? He had hoped that because the foolish Chantry Mother had collected more of her blood than the magister's, Emma would not be so influenced. But the way she turned her nose up at the poor elf— like he was a stew with too many vegetables— suggested otherwise. And then to Danarius, longingly through her fright and anger. Maker, she was all changed. Demetri wanted to get closer, he wanted to learn more of her state. Perhaps, he could— no that practice was very illegal, even if one was the Archon's son. Marriage is sacred and not to be meddled with.

Demetri squinted as Emma met eyes with him. She immediately smiled and waved to him in invitation; both to Demetri's relief and disappointment.

Participants in the final ritual feel disdain for past loves, which was the cause for Emma's sudden dislike for Fenris. Her continued liking of Demetri was explained by her lack of romantic interest in him. Oh, well. Perhaps he should be thankful that she never felt anything toward him. Because the elf looked ready to leap out a window.

And perhaps he should tell the elf that the spell didn't condemn new loves, even born from old ones. Though it would be difficult for the poor git to get past her steely resolve— not to mention, painful.

Passing the magister a wary glance, Demetri considered joining her in a dance. Danarius was heavily engaged in parchment scribbling and consorting with his friend. If Demetri were a polite or respectful sort of creature, he would request permission from the groom before taking his bride's hand. But, alas, Demetri was neither. And sod Danarius, anyway, for forcing Emma into the final ritual.

Nodding once at Emma's invitation, he rose from his chair and walked up to relieve the elf of his living torment. The elf was determined to place duty over a psychological break, however, and planted himself firmly between Demetri and Emma.

"Oh, it's alright, Fenris," Emma rolled her eyes with an exasperated smile. Giving the elf a light push, she sought Demetri's hands, who kept them stuffed into his pockets as he gave the elf a once over. "I think it's been established that he won't kill me."

Demetri raised a brow at him, genuinely confused.

"Do you honestly think I might harm her in this room full of witnesses?"

Jutting a thumb over-shoulder, Demetri rationalized, "If he has a problem with my dancing with his… wife," He and Fenris each stifled a shudder, "then I'm certain he'll let me know. If you'll excuse us."

The elf glared as Demetri took Emma into his hold and began their dance.

vVv

_Now, _she was smiling, Fenris noted. For maker's sake.

He was met with a tired glare upon returning to Danarius. The magister's parchment laid forgotten beside him, and Larus was engaged in a new conversation with his neighbor. Fenris muttered a small apology and asked if he would like the dancers to be separated.

"No," Danarius's eyes followed their movements, "the damage is done. Separating them now would seem childish." He then lifted his head, a thoughtful frown on his face. "The guests are beside themselves, all of them." Fenris supposed for him to mean the incident during the ceremony, when Emma abandoned Danarius at the aisle. He was therefore surprised to hear his next words, instead.

"They forgive Emma for being what she is, and found her emotional display endearing," Danarius's brow furrowed at that. "I suppose they have grown fond of her." He motioned to his plate, stocked full of carefully prepared, attractive cuisine. "And they deem me of 'exquisite taste', saying that if the management of my home is any indication to the way I shall manage their country, I have their vote." Danarius returned his gaze to the elf, a distant twinkle in the blue. "This wedding has gone perfectly and I wish to reward my slaves for it. Larus and I were discussing—"

"Positive reinforcement," Larus chimed in, stealing a buttered roll from the magister's plate. "To encourage behavior."

Danarius nodded toward Emma, "She was right. Providing the elves with more food increased productivity and morale."

The healer smeared a chunk of butter onto the bread with his thumb.

"Honest work is born from respect, not fear."

Fenris caught himself in a nod and stilled himself. But the healer was right. Everyone was much happier with a good meal at the end of each day, and it shined through in their labors.

"I want to reward them," Danarius said again, eyeing the wedding's spoils. "See that an elf sends wine, mead, and cake to the kitchens. Give them a lot."

Fenris blinked.

"Yes, master."

He knew a few elves who could use a drink.

vVv

"What the—" Thanron grunted, scrambling from his stool. The elves watched as two big barrels of wine and mead were rolled into the kitchens. "Forget where the cellar is_?_" Thanron stared, wide-eyed, as Padhil grabbed one by the girth and lifted it off the ground.

"Would ya stop gawkin' and help me?"

Thanron hurried to clutch the other end and haul it up to the countertop. They did the same with the second barrel, until both were sitting side by side upon the counter's edge.

"Beautiful sight," Padhil sighed, wrapping an arm around Thanron, who was still staring in awe. "Fenris said we get this for doin' a good job today. Can you believe that?" The elf swiped a hand along his jaw, voice thickening.

"Haven't had a drink in…"

Thanron's brow furrowed as he spoke.

"Never had one."

Padhil gave him a hard slap against the back, and Thanron wondered when the hell everyone decided they had to.

"Let's put some hair on that bare chest of yours!"

Thanron shrugged away, chuckling, "Sod off, you old git."

It was then that Imraddon trundled in, shoulder shoving the door open, because his arms were holding up a giant,

"Cake!" Thanron cried, quelling the urge to jump up and down like the younger elves around him. He lunged forward to catch its end as Imraddon nearly tripped over his own feet, clumsy sod. The elf wanted to stick out a tongue to lick the frosting that hung just before his nose, it smelled so good! He helped Imraddon hoist the cake onto the tabletop, breathing heavy and smiling from ear to ear.

Thanron knew all about cake from the others, and watched snippets of Imraddon's preparation with envy, but he had never tried it himself. He just hoped it wasn't too sweet. Thanron didn't have much of a taste for sweet things.

"That healer came through," he panted, hands on his knees. "Maker," Thanron sighed as he straightened himself, "'tween the wine 'n the cake, n' the day, I'm spent."

Imraddon then noticed the two barrels, raised a brow, and turned to Thanron for answers.

"'Parrently we're bein' gifted for a hard day's work."

The second brow went up to join the first, "I thought that the cake was— wine, too?"

"'Parrently," Thanron said again, folding arms over his chest.

Elves had already begun retrieving plates and forks, serving themselves to cake with big smiles and ruddy cheeks. No sense of guilt and unease, whatsoever. They just accepted the happiness that crawled into their belly with each bite. The treat was seein' the little elves squirm around the taste, lickin' the frost from their fork. That'd have been enough for Thanron, right there.

But there was plenty to go around, sure enough, and Thanron accepted a large chunk with a smile and nod. He sat himself down against the wall and watched as Imraddon pridefully cut into his own creation, damn near a smile on his face. Thanron motioned for the blond to join him when they met eyes, and let the sodding happiness jump 'round in his chest when he complied.

"Do you like it?" Imraddon asked as he sat down.

Thanron smiled, "Haven't tried it yet."

Padhil approached them, holding two pints of foamy, golden stuff. Thanron grasped at the wooden handle as it was held out to him and watched the golden liquid slosh onto his hand. When Padhil rejoined the others, Thanron layed the plate of cake in his lap. He then brought the wooden pint's edge to his face and gave it a sniff. Thanron wrinkled his nose. It smelled rather like feet. Thanron glanced up at the elves, many of which were draining their cups as though they carried water.

Curious, Thanron brought it to his lips and drew in a cautious sip.

He choked on the taste and scowled, smacking his lips as it settled on his tongue.

Imraddon chuckled beside him, lifting a hand to slap his back before resting it back upon his leg. Thanron slammed a fist against his chest a few good times, and cleared his throat.

"Wouldn't give it to the pigs," he rasped.

The blond elf watched his face, "Too sweet."

Nodding, Thanron took another sip, face twisted in anticipation. Imraddon smiled with a furrowed brow in a why-are-you-still-drinking-it face. Thanron answered with a shrug, wincing as he swallowed the stuff before laying his cup down against the floor.

"Don't like sweet things," he muttered, swiping his mouth with the back of his hand. "Ah," he amended quickly, flushing, "but I'm sure this cake's great." Thanron collected his fork and dipped it into the spongy dessert.

Thanron was wrapping his lips around the fork when Imraddon replied softly,

"It should be. I made it for you."

That was when the flavors exploded on Thanron's tongue. A dull sweetness, followed by a soft saltiness that complimented it real nice. And then there was a strange bitterness his mouth had never experienced before. It tingled on his tongue, topping the flavors off perfectly.

"It's delicious!" he cried around the mouthful. "It's sweet, but it's bitter," Thanron struggled. He closed his eyes and concentrated on the taste. "It's not like anything I've ever had."

"It's called 'lemon'. It's a lemon cake."

"It's so— ," Thanron began to moan before stopping short, dark eyes flying open as he turned to fix them on Imraddon. "What'd you say?"

The blond elf frowned, "It's...lemon cake—"

"No, 'fore that," Thanron hurriedly dismissed, leaning closer to Imraddon. "You say you made this cake...for me?"

` The elf inched back, looking startled as he shifted on his haunches.

"I mean— well, yes—"

Thanron began to shout, "_Why_—" before remembering himself and bringing his voice down to a whisper. He had felt a spot of guilt when the elf flinched sheepishly at the noise. "Why would you do a thing like that? It's _Emma's _weddin', ya big lug. What if the nobles wanted a sweet cake?"

Imraddon nodded to the display around them.

"It seems to me that the nobles were satisfied with lemon cake. You helped me earlier, when you retrieved the healer; I wanted to repay you. And I know you don't like sweet things and you've never had cake— before..." The elf's voice trailed away as he stared at Thanron, who was glaring up at him with intensity.

"Y'know...," Thanron began cooly, breaking their gaze. He took a long gulp from the sweet drink before letting out a sharp exhale. Wiping his mouth against his tunic sleeve, Thanron muttered, "You're a real piece of work."

vVv

Demetri sighed as Emma nearly toppled to the marble floor. Again. The girl could barely keep herself upright, relying on his body for some semblance of balance.

"Ungh," he grunted as she planted a firm foot on his.

Drowning her sorrows in wine would only cause more troubles. He knew that from experience. But then… maybe she simply needed to quiet the foreign thoughts that had made a home in her head. She clung to his waist, a concentrated frown creasing her brow. He'd love to give it a kiss and and tuck her into bed, away from this madness.

The nobles were beginning to stare, no doubt deeming their dance as confirmation of an affair. Demetri wished. He wasn't a lover, but a cruch. Keeping her from falling completely to sadness. Demetri watched as she wrinkled her nose, eyes focused on the patterns in his jerkin. He realized she was holding back tears and swallowed back the anger that rose in his throat.

He needed to help her. Maker, he could not just watch while she suffered. In truth, Demetri had already considered helping her, but the risks frightened him into reserve.

Damn it, she was too important to ignore.

"Emma," he murmured softly. She raised her head and met his eyes. "I want you to listen very carefully. Can you do that?"

She nodded with a perplexed frown.

"Y'think me an idiot?" Emma slurred. "F'course I can."

"Good."

Demetri leaned in, casting eyes to the magister who watched them intently.

"None of this is to be repeated. Understand?" His lips brushed her hair as she nodded again. "I'm going to help you. I'm going to help you get away."

Emma stiffened beneath him.

"How?"

vVv

Danarius leaned on the arm of his chair as he watched the bloody Prince stoop down to whisper into his flower's ear. Her eyes widened at the words, despite her slowed state. Danarius suppressed the urge to reach out a hand and send the bastard flying. How dare he speak to her so confidently, before all the guests and Danarius, himself? Had he no respect for the vows he and Emma exchanged only hours ago? Demetri hadn't objected when he had the chance, so why was he meddling now?

_Perhaps you should ask him yourself…, _Vanum suggested in a whisper, _tonight._

_An image of entering the imbecile's chambers filled his mind. He was watching the scene take place, as Vanum always did inside his head. There, but only a spectator. Like the night Vanum blew up the tent. He watched himself stepping into the room, eyes falling to the sleeping Demetri that stretched along the couch, despite a warm bed sitting mere feet away. A fire crackled softly in the hearth, small ambers reaching in their final dance. Demetri's hand was settled on his chest, blond curls drooping into his eyes. Danarius felt a sudden weight in his hand and looked down to find a knife._

_I know what you are doing, _Danarius hissed, pushing the images away. _Stop. I am not going to kill the Archon's son._

_Mmm, _Vanum stretched himself in Danarius's head, coaxing him to relinquish control. _Might I do the honors, then? _

_Emma would hate us, _he answered sharply. _More than she already does._

Vanum let out a chilling laugh, the sound of broken glass meeting the floor.

_Why were you not so noble when the girl's father was called into question?_

Danarius closed his eyes in shame, and the letter was waiting there behind his lids. The letter he wrote to his templar, ordering that he perform the Rite of Tranquility on a Fereldon healer named Malcolm Hawke. He watched himself sign it, watched the parchment as Vanum folded it and dripped wax, the color of blood, onto its crease. Then, the brand of his family seal.

_You sent that bloody letter, _Danarius snapped.

Vanum laughed again.

_You wrote it._

Danarius recoiled and received a wary glance from Larus.

_You made me do it, you clouded my head as you always do, you— _

_Blame me if you like, _Vanum sneered. _We both know what you are capable of. Why do you think I claimed your mind? Your mother did not summon me. I heard the call and I made the choice. Because your mind is foul, like mine. You can kill your mother. You can kill the girl's father. You can kill Demetri. You can kill anyone who will take her from us. _

"Shut up," Danarius murmured, rising from his chair.

vVv

"What?"

Demetri sighed. He would have to save details for a time when she could understand. For now, he would have to be very plain.

"I can arrange for Danarius to be summoned to Minrathous. Maybe five months, for the final stages of the election." Demetri spoke quickly, knowing that the magister would intervene soon. His fingers tightened around the girls hand and waist. "I live in Minrathous, I can arrange— he'll leave you here or he'll take you with him to Minrathous. Either way, I can get you out." Danarius was almost upon them. "I can help you," he whispered hurriedly, "so please don't cry."

He drew away to find Emma staring up at him with wide eyes.

"Might I cut in?" came Danarius's cool voice.

Demetri lifted his head from Emma, flashing him a smile.

"Of course," he answered, guiding the girl's hand toward her husband's. "Careful, she's having difficulty standi—"

"I've noticed," Danarius bit, prompting Demetri to narrow his eyes before bowing and grinding out a tight,

"Congradulations."

He left the ballroom in a flurry of anger, shoving the door open as an elf reached out a hand to assist him, and crossed the large entrance hall. Demetri then climbed the steps, gripping the railing tightly.

Tomorrow was his last chance to speak to Emma before he would return to the capital.

He needed to get her away.

vVv

"This stuff's not so bad, th'more ya drink it."

Imraddon set aside his own pint, which he had taken careful sips from. He had no desire to be drunk, like so many of the others. Who would want to be vulnerable in a palace full of powerful magisters? No, thank you. And if he was summoned by Lord Zalen… well, then he _really _wouldn't want to be vulnerable.

Thanron was on his third slice of lemon cake, and his second pint of mead. By the time he reached the end of that, the elf would be quite intoxicated. Imraddon shuddered to think what pain awaited Thanron in the morning. Perhaps he should warn him about the consequences of drinking too much mead.

One glance at the blissful smile on Thanron's lips perished the thought. The boy rarely let loose, he was always so wound up and fussy. Tonight would give him a well deserved belly full of happiness.

"Did I tell you this's th'best damn thing've ever eaten?"

Thanron sighed as his lips closed around another bite, slowly pulling the fork from between his lips.

"I cannot determine if you have had too much to drink," Imraddon observed with a thoughtful frown. "Most string their words in a jumbled mess, but you always talk that way, so it is no indication at all."

"Har har," Thanron rolled his eyes. "If feelin' warm'n'happy'n'tingly'n'like I'm sittin' in a bowl of honey—" he pressed a fist to his mouth as he hiccuped once, "...means I'm drunk, then I'm drunk."

"A warm and tingly Thanron," Imraddon mused with a small smile, "cute."

"'Ey, 'ey—" Thanron snapped, smile replaced with a glower, "don't be callin' me cute. Makes me feel small and I _hate_," he glared into his pint cup, before raising it to his lips and drawing a long gulp from the depths, "bein' small."

Imraddon's brow furrowed as he asked, "Why?"

Thanron lifted his head to stare at Imraddon as though he had just bleated like a goat, rather than asked a simple question.

"'Why?'" the younger elf repeated with a snort, "no one takes me seriously, tha's why. People treat me like a child, even though m'full grown. Girls don' wan' me 'cause I'm shorter'n' them. Jus' look at Ara. Bet you if I was tall like the healer, it'd be _me _in her bed and not him." He took another drink, staring at the remains of his cake.

Imraddon raised a brow.

"If you think Arathea is that shallow, you don't deserve her."

Thanron passed him a swift glance before dropping eyes back to his plate.

"You're right, I don' mean it. And'm really over her. It's just— today, a lady called me a 'pretty little thing' and pushes me about. And then this big, huge feller' comes in and she's all a'tremble. I want people to respect me that way."

"That has nothing to do with size, and everything to do status."

"An' it's always been that way with me," Thanron murmured, ignoring Imraddon's explanation. "M'little. For life, I'm little."

Imraddon frowned, shaking his head.

"You are not little."

Thanron made that face again. This time, as if Imraddon had neighed and shook his mane.

"You're drunker'n me."

"You are not little," Imraddon repeated with a small laugh. "You're anything but. Your voice, for starters, commands attention. It is deeper than mine, and it is as rough as the bark of a tree. It could command an army, your voice."

Thanron's face slackened, eyes widening at the words.

"You are as strong as two men together. Working in the barns all day, lifting animals that are "nearly two hundred pounds", riding beasts. I cannot ride a horse, they terrify me. I almost pissed myself trimming the hairs from that bloody horse's tail."

The elf chuckled at that, wrinkling his nose in a way that sent electricity zipping through Imraddon's chest.

"And you have a big heart," he said softly, watching his face. "You help people in need, much as you complain and pretend it is a burden. You care more than most."

It was the reason why Imraddon loved him so much.

"So, you see," he murmured, staring deeply into Thanron's eyes, "you are not little. You never have been."

vVv

Thanron felt his face heat as he looked up at the elf. His eyes were stormy, gray as the sky when it rains, with dark rims that framed their lightness. Beautiful, if you like that sort of thing. Storms and whatnot.

Which, Thanron did enjoy a good storm, didn't he?

He forced his eyes back to his mead with a frown and took a few long gulps.

His head was a jumbled mess nowadays. Imraddon was always doin' and sayin' things that confused him. Thanron's heart had ached painfully inside his chest when Imraddon told him that he wasn't little. And— not that he'd admit it to a livin' soul— the words cut him deep, almost set him to crying. But they made him happy.

"Maybe it's the mead," Thanron sighed softly.

No, it wasn't the mead and he knew it.

"Sorry, what? I didn't hear."

Imraddon was just a good kind of guy and he was… stirrin' up some… feelings—

Growling, Thanron chugged the rest of his mead, feeling ribbons of the stuff trail down his chin. He wiped his mouth and hiccuped, rising to his feet, empty pint in tow. He needed another one.

Disapproval marked Imraddon's tone, "What are you doing?"

"Gettin' more," Thanron answered gruffly.

What'd the git have to be a man for?

vVv

"Good girl," Danarius cooed, pulling locks of hair away from her mouth, "let it out."

Emma placed a hand against the grass and leaned as another spell of heaving overtook her. Danarius grimaced at the sight of dark redness against the pebbles. If he hadn't known she had spent a majority of the night drinking wine, he would have feared that the liquid was blood; it resembled it so. She moaned and coughed, wiping her nose with the back of her hand.

"Danarius…" Emma breathed, closing her eyes, "this's your fault."

"I know, Emma."

"M'not gonna have— mm—...sex with you."

Danarius suppressed a smile as he dragged his hand across her back.

"I know."

Emma gagged and leaned to vomit, but nothing came out. She whimpered softly, pressing a hand to her head.

"Think m'done."

"Are you certain?" Danarius asked, smoothing her hair again.

Emma shook her head and struggled to her knees before nearly toppling over. Danarius quickly reached out hands to catch her, lest she fall into the puddle of red vomit. He pulled her into his arms and grunted as he stood up.

"I don't wanna be carried…" she hiccuped and lolled her head back, "by the likes of you."

"Well, Fenris has gone to supper, and you can't walk. I regret to say that I am your only option."

"Damn," Emma sighed.

Danarius laughed and passed through the main entrance as two guards held it open.

vVv

Thanron leaned his weight on Imraddon, ashamed of his need to do so as they walked down the narrow corridor to his chambers.

"You should not have had that third pint," Imraddon sighed as he readjusted his grip around Thanron's waist. Normally, it would have bothered him that Thanron's head only reached the other elf's chest. But after all the things Imraddon said, his mind didn't dwell on it the way it usually did. Instead, it scowled at Imraddon bein' a mead know-it-all.

"Piss off."

Imraddon stopped and the suddenness of it sent him reeling so violently, he nearly emptied his stomach onto their bare feet. Bastard did that on purpose.

"Here we are," the elf said too pleasantly, confirming suspicion. He opened the door, "In you go," and helped Thanron into the room as he struggled like a newborn foal.

He hissed, "Stop laughin'," as they slowly clambered to Thanron's cot.

"I'm not," Imraddon chuckled as he bent to help him climb onto bed.

vVv

When the blond elf took a step back, Thanron motioned to him from the cot.

"C'mere," he mumbled, waving his hand toward himself. "Hurry up."

Imraddon snorted and folded his arms, "I am not falling for that." He turned for the door, "Good night, Thanron. I shall come by in the morning to make sure you are not dead—"

"Come here." Thanron growled. "'Fore I change my mind."

Imraddon paused and turned with a frown. Stepping to his bedside, the elf waited with narrowed eyes.

"On your knees," Thanron sighed, exasperated.

Imraddon did so and—

The boy grabbed him by the robes and pulled him to his face. He kissed Imraddon firmly, though still as a statue, lips unmoving against the other elf. Imraddon was frozen in his knelt position, hand bracing against the cot's mattress beside Thanron's head. He didn't dare to breathe.

After what seemed like an eternity had passed, Thanron moved his lips against Imraddon's, who slowly closed his eyes. A warmth erupted inside his chest and Thanron reached a hand to press against the back of Imraddon's neck, pulling him closer still. He allowed the younger elf to do as he pleased, still unmoving despite the desire that ached in his bones.

He inhaled sharply when the elf slipped his tongue past their lips and brushed Imraddon's—

A long moan sounded from the opposite wall. It was unmistakably Arathea's voice and it was beginning to grow disturbingly rhythmic.

"You were not exaggerating," Imraddon grimaced as the sounds grew louder. "That is—"

"Impossible t'sleep through."

Imraddon slowly drew away from Thanron, flushing scarlet at the sight of his lips. The lips he had dreamed of kissing for years. The lips that had claimed _his_. Thanron was staring at him evenly, eyes revealing nothing in their dark depths. "Well," Imraddon began, throat suddenly dry, "you can always sleep in my chambers—"

"After all th' work it took t'get here? Not a chance."

The elf was silent a long moment, running through every possible thing he could say and coming up short for a response.

"Well—...good night, then," Imraddon murmurred. For the second time, he turned to leave.

And for the second time, Thanron stopped him.

"C'mere."

Imraddon smiled.

vVv

_Theme for Thanron and Imraddon: Where is my mind? by Maxence Cyrin (cover of Pixies)_

_Another chapter! And my longest yet. But the night is not over for many. We got some steaminess coming up next chapter and some disturbing stuff coming up next chapter._

_As I said, I would like to start replying to reviews publicly, because not everyone has a PM thingy._

_NightlyRowenTree: Expect the unexpected! And thank you._

_Eureka234: Thanks, I love writing dance scenes with Fenris. I think there's been 3 so far? Kind of a lot._

_Azaninhemmatpour89: I know, I know, I'm sorry. If it's any consolation, it hurts me, too! They were so in love and now we're back to square one again._

_ElyssaCousland: I'm sorry! And as you now know after reading this chapter, it did alter her perception of Fenris. Now, she's a bitch to him._

_Sp1c3M0nst3r: There, there! Happy endings are my thing. Mostly. Sometimes._

_Lady Velvet C. Peterson: Isn't he such a stinker? Thanks._

_Guest 1: Oh, she's mad, alright. And like Demetri said, old love will die, but new love can still happen. That includes Fenris. Square one._

_XenaHawke: Yes, it is a sad time for Ennis. Or Fenma. _

_Guest 2: I shall glue you back up, not to worry! And I'll keep at it, thanks to sweet readers like you._

_yinspirit: Thanks, I work very hard to make my story complex. Both men and women make up Tevinter's chantry; it's the only country that allows males in their Chantry. So, we're both right._

_Secret Companion: Aw, another sad reader. I'm sorry. Thank you very much, that means a lot. And after this chapter, you now know that Emma's change in attitude is only toward Fenris because she loved him._

_GlysMari: Yes, it is twisted, isn't it? I hope I continue to pump your blood. I love hating him, too. And I love loving him._

_TazzmanianDevil: I know, I've done Fenris so wrong! He's miserable right now. Probably not even enjoying his lemon cake. Thanks for reading and reviewing._

_that one person: This review made me so happy. I am so glad you enjoy my story, and thank you so much for reading it. _


	61. To simply be near

vVv

Fenris rubbed his tired face with both hands, elbows rested upon the wooden table. Only a few elves remained in the kitchens. Their ruddy smiles still marked their faces, unwilling to sleep and let the laughter echo into silence. Fenris stared at his hand and felt the snowflake's tingle.

Tarma had brought him a slice of cake hours ago, along with a glass of wine. He promptly drained the wine glass and fought the urge to pour himself another. The cake, however… what had Emma called that tart flavor?

"_When he offers you something; tea or cakes…" Fenris ripped a piece off the yellow pastry, sniffing it curiously before carving his teeth through. He instantly made a face of pure revulsion as the foulness settled in his mouth and shuddered, reaching for his mint water. _

_She asked, "You don't like lemon?" and he could tell she was fighting back a smile. _

"_No," grimaced Fenris._

_Emma held out a dumpling of some kind, "Trade?"_

_Fenris wordlessly collected it, passing the bitten round into her hand. He eyed the dumpling with apprehension before he pushed its hot dough into his mouth, chewing cautiously. He then let out a long gust of air through his nose and gently closed his lids. _

"_You look happiest when you eat." _

Maker. It was like waking from a beautiful dream. He felt the sting that it was over.

The elf did not want to leave the kitchens and return to his master's chambers. He did not want to see Emma touched by another man, least of all Danarius. He did not want to hear sounds of pleasure escape her lips. Fenris believed he might crawl into the hearthfire if he was forced to witness the consummation. He would rather be anywhere else than in that room—

A thin voice sounded just behind him,

"I was just thinking of you."

Fenris stopped breathing for a moment and his body tensed with the aching need to bolt for the door. A feeling he hated to ignore and never could indulge. He dimly hoped the encounter would not extend beyond the simple acknowledgement.

"Come with me," commanded Hadriana.

The Maker's humor was of the dark sense.

_When I wished to be anywhere else, _Fenris bitterly explained to his neglectful Creator, _I did not mean upon a spider's web. _

She coolly observed, "They give you cake and you do not eat it," as he rose and turned to find her face, pinched in usual distaste. "Ungrateful."

"Apologies, mistress," Fenris spoke stiffly. He didn't bother to explain his distaste for it; she would strike him with magic for speaking out.

She tutted at that and gave him a slow stare, starting from his slicked back locks to his leather bound feet.

"Strange to see you in boots," smirked Hadriana as her eyes continued to roam. "I am reminded of Madam Duran's pooch, always at her hip, dressed in a little jerkin and black booties." That sent her into a fit of laughter that persisted throughout their journey to her chambers, whereupon a single glance in the elf's direction would respark her amusement anew.

An odd scene took place two doors down from Hadriana's room; a very tall, very brutish man was staring down at the Archon's daughter from where he stood in his doorway. Danarius's younger brother leaned against its frame with the sort of patience in his eyes that one might extend toward a beloved child. Lady Mirima's face was the juxtaposition of that as tears glinted upon her cheeks in the candlelight. She glared up at the man with a sharpness that Fenris had not thought possible for the soft creature.

No words were exchanged during the strange display as Fenris followed Hadriana into her chambers. A small pang of guilt lingered inside his chest upon receiving a swift glance from the young woman. He wondered if Lady Mirima would tell Emma of his entering Hadriana's chambers so late in the evening. She no doubt believed he and Emma to be friends, after all, for sometimes Lady Mirima would flash them a knowing smile when she caught them in company.

What would Emma's reaction be? Fenris's gaze fell to his hands as he imagined that empty stare in her eyes. She would not react at all. Only shrug in that unaffected manner, as she had in the ballroom. Maker, that had been painful. A simple rise and fall beneath his hands and Fenris had nearly lost breath.

vVv

After Hadriana and the elf had entered her chambers and Mirima still remained silent, Ser finally parted his lips.

"Why don't you come in before you fall over?"

Mirima continued to glare as she squeezed past him, grinding her teeth at the sound of his chuckles, and faltered inside. She stood in the middle of his chamber with hands clenched into fists at her sides while he walked to the bed and pulled back the sheets.

"Climb in," Ser spoke with a tired smile, hand patting the bed in invitation. When she wobbled forward, he took a couple steps to wrap an arm around Mirima's waist and help her to the bed. "'Atta girl," Ser grunted as he plopped her down against the mattress. "Now, sleep," he pulled the sheets over her body. "'N wake up on the right side of the bed tomorrow. Think 'is this one," Ser pushed her across the mattress to its "right side" and smiled when Mirima frowned all the while, not the least bit impressed by his comedic efforts.

"For the second time," he winked before bending in a bow, "'g'night, milady."

Mirima was expecting him to climb in with her, so her frown deepened in surprise when he turned to stretch along the couch.

A small tingling in her toes.

That meant he saw her a bit...as a woman, then...right? Or else he would have crawled in bed with her as he used to do. Now, he deemed it inappropriate, because she was grown. Right? Her face slackened, and let go of her brow and lips.

vVv

"Has it been too long, wolfie?" Hadriana glanced up at him before bending to remove her shoes, reaching a hand to pinch the hem of his trousers as she balanced on one foot. Fenris considered backing away to watch her fall over. "I'll admit," she grunted, "I have—so missed our games."

After yanking off the next, she set to work on removing her dress. As she pulled at the black fabric, she hissed, "Why are you just standing like an idiot? Take those silly things off. You were never meant to wear them."

Fenris agreed with that, at the very least, though he did not wish to give her the satisfaction. His hands remained at his sides for a long moment. It was when her eyes darkened and the air thickened with the spark of magic that he finally began to peel the human cloth from his skin.

"It may have been a long time," Hadriana spoke quietly, words laced with threat, "and things may have changed here…" she paused for a moment as a thought took hold, and dazedly passed seconds staring down at a tuft in the rug. And then the distraction dispersed as she cleared her throat and relocked their eyes. "But—" Hadriana shook her head. Fenris noticed the tears that had collected along the rims of her eyes. "But I haven't. Understand?"

The elf nodded once in understanding before stepping out of his trousers. Hadriana gripped her arms as a draft swept into the room and Fenris walked to start up the fire before she could make the biting command.

vVv

Soon, his deep, rumbling breaths filled the room, like a bear in its cave.

Smiling, and dizzy with relief and rum, Mirima slowly slipped out of bed and tiptoed to his side. She knelt and watched his face. For most people, their tight faces relaxed in their sleep. For Ser, it was just the opposite. His happy features hardened into seriousness while he slept. It had always been so.

Ser's jaw was tight; he was clenching his teeth together. She frowned at the scar that ran over his lips and wondered how he obtained it. It had not been there before he left. Mirima reached a finger to trace it, and whispered, "I hope it hurt."

Without a single thought to it— simply, because she wanted to, simply, because she loved him— she pressed her lips to his.

Ser mumbled something unintelligible into her mouth before his eyes shot open into saucers. He quickly sat up, arms stretching along the couch as he leaned his back against its cushions.

"Mirima, what—"

She answered with a defensive frown, "I'm kissing you."

He blinked at the simplicity of her statement, before melting against the couch in relief.

"Maker, Miri," he lifted hands to press against his temples, "you nearly scared me to my grave." Then he lifted a sharp gaze to her, voice equally so, "Why would you—"

"Why did you leave?" she asked abruptly, matching his tone. "What was so important that you had to vanish into the mountains?"

Ser stared at her a long moment, eyes filling with a thick weariness.

"I can't tell you," he finally sighed.

Mirima folded her arms against her chest, "You can."

"No," he said in a short and humorless laugh, "I can't. And I won't, so let it— "

"Why are you sleeping on the couch?"

Ser's eyes widened, "What's with th'sudden interrogation? Can't a man catch a wink after weeks of travelin'?"

"Fine, sleep, I apologize for kissing you."

She crossed the room, climbed back into bed, and fell asleep when her head met the pillow.

vVv

As he struck the flint, she continued speaking.

"He's letting you knife ears run amuck in the castle as if—… as if you are not slaves, and rather servants. _Paid _servants. And I suppose you were today, weren't you? Paid in wine and cake. It wouldn't be this way if…" her sentence trailed away while Fenris bent to blow at the small flame he had sparked.

He drew away when it spread to nibble at the wood until its flames were healthy and strong. Turning back to Hadriana, he finished her sentence.

"If I had not been branded."

The words had left his lips before he could stop them. He had been too focused on Hadriana's ponderings along with the fire, that they had slipped out his mouth. Her eyes flashed at his boldness, though she did not raise a hand against him. Instead, her lips spread into a cold smile.

"Yes, you are to blame, aren't you?" She stepped closer to him and the fire. "Na Vanum told me; you are not a guardsman. You were made to simply be near Danarius, to hold him and fuck him, so he can soak up the lyrium through your skin. Directly touched, lyrium kills mages. But indirectly, and through a pure vessel, it can be used to strengthen them. Against things like demons."

Fenris stared at her. It was not a good thing for Hadriana to know this.

"Everything was perfect," she frowned, wiping her nose with a small sniff, "before you were stuffed like a mushroom." Tears marked her cheeks now. Hadriana glanced at the elf before dropping down upon the small couch before the fire. "I used to hate when his eyes went back to blue. One moment, he's there…" her voice grew distant, "strong, commanding, and sharp. Fearless and powerful. And then he's gone, replaced by a frightened little boy who misses his mummy. And then you were branded. After a few years around you, his eyes didn't go back to black."

But Vanum fought against it those four long years; beating Fenris into a constant state of delirium, denying him meals, and giving him a home in the dank corners of a cell beneath the castle. He had been born into a world of pain and darkness.

Fenris stood before her, the fire heating the back of his bare legs. He slowly knelt down, waiting for the order to carry out their sins. She simply stared at him, cold eyes raining.

"I wish you had died," Hadriana murmured and Fenris was surprised by how feeble it sounded.

For the very first time, Fenris smiled at Hadriana and she seemed to rouse upon seeing it stretch his face. When he bent his head to laugh, shoulders quaking, she warily straightened against the cushion. Fenris raised his chin and she was glaring at him with wide eyes, confused.

In a sigh, as the final bubble of laughter left his chest, he answered,

"Maker, so do I."

She slapped him across the face, as was normal between them, and Fenris nearly broke another smile. Hadriana's hits spoke a language. From stop-that slaps to don't-stop-that slaps to I-have-the-bleeds-and-I'm-just-in-a-foul-mood slaps. This sting wasn't so painful as she hadn't packed her usual strength behind it. The act was done more out of principle for his speaking out of turn. Glaring surprise still marked her features. And that was...well, it was kind of funny.

"Stop staring at me like that," Hadriana snapped, a flush taking to her pale skin. "Mangy mutt." In an attempt to reassert dominance, she grabbed Fenris by the hair, spread her legs, and pulled his face to her sex.

He kissed her the way she liked best, and it wasn't long at all before Hadriana was trembling beneath him and whimpering in pleasure. Fenris glanced up at her face once, seeing that the dark brows were still pulled up in a state of startlement. Tears no longer trailed her skin as she pulled him harder against her. She bit her lip. She...

She bit her lip.

Fenris braced hands against the couch's edge as he pulled away from her grip.

"_Fenris," _she breathlessly hissed, eyes wide in alarmed anger. _"Who told you to—"_

He gripped her legs, yanking them towards him. He swiftly ignored the snarls of threats and stilled her thighs as she thrashed about. Grabbing his hardened length, he brought it to her glistening lips and thrust his hips once. He was sheathed inside her warmth, and he closed his eyes around the feeling. She was tight and pulsing around him, almost pulling him deeper. _Oh, Emma._

Fenris opened his eyes and leaned to capture the lips that were spouting incantations, too full of stutters to produce a spark. He was still inside her as he gently kissed her trembling lips, coaxing the flesh to move with his. His hands traveled slowly up and down her thighs all the while. _Emma..._

After a minute had passed, the demanding heat started to leave his belly. As he remembered where he knelt, who he held in his hands, his heart began sinking inside his chest. Slowly, Fenris unlocked his lips from hers and leaned away.

Hadriana stared up at him in what could only be described as shock. No anger in her eyes, and no fear. Just unadulterated shock.

"Mis—" Fenris quickly pulled away and mirrored her expression, "I—"

"Fuck me," she whispered around trembling lips. "J-just that way. I command you. I—" Hadriana's skin heated and tears filled her eyes anew as she brought a hand to her mouth. She sobbed once, a quick hiccup of sound, and lowered her hand to reveal teeth puncturing her bottom lip.

Upon the sight, Fenris fucked her.

And it was no secret that they imagined different partners to be holding them. For Fenris, Hadriana revealed it in a strangled cry of the demon's name. And for Hadriana, she could feel it in his needy touch.

When their love spilled out of them, they both trembled.

Then they pulled apart, slowly. Carefully. Each face soaked in tears. No questions on their lips.

And then, Hadriana slapped Fenris and commanded him to leave. But the slap was more like gratitude, and the command was more like "good night".

vVv

Fenris cracked open the door to Danarius's room and slipped inside as silently as he could, gently closing the door behind him. He stepped to the couch, clothes and boots tucked under his arm, and rested upon the cushion. Glancing once at the sleeping couple, he folded the clothes and rested them beside the hearth before stretching out along the couch.

He stared up at the ceiling, where the day's events were dancing against its darkwood. The day had been too eventful. From a morning with Emma in his arms, fearing their exploits might be uncovered, to claiming her once more, to watching her exchange vows with Danarius, to the blood that speckled the snow when the goblet thudded against it, to dancing with her hollowed eyes, to gifting the elves with mead and cake, to fucking Hadriana—

"Fenris," Danarius whispered in the stillness. "Come."

Fenris suppressed the urge to sigh. Won't the day just end?

Danarius was smiling softly when the elf reached his side.

"Yes, master?"

The magister gently pushed Emma to the other end of the bed, and shifted into the middle. "Sleep here," he spoke softly. It was then that Fenris noticed the darkness in his eyes. He wondered, distantly, at what had caused Danarius to weaken as he climbed into bed beside him. Mostly, he inwardly scowled.

Sharing a bed with his love and her new husband, whom was also the bane of his existence. Now, Fenris knew for certain that the Maker was laughing at him.

Danarius gently grabbed the elf's arm and sighed at the touch, fingers trailing his markings. Fenris winced as they thrummed beneath his fingers and Danarius whispered a small incantation in order to stop them from igniting.

"A most interesting thing has happened," Danarius murmured, a tilt in his voice that could easily be construed as amusement, if one did not know him better. "Before you came—from the location and with the reason of which you will be providing— my Emma spoke in her sleep."

Fenris nearly tensed beneath his touch, but forced himself to remain relaxed as it would arouse the magister to suspicion, or confirm what he might already believe.

"She spoke Demetri's name."

Now, Fenris had to focus on not relaxing too much as relief flooded his veins.

"I've been laying here, trying my very damndest to ignore Na Vanum's voice. Planting images of draining the blood from that sodding—" his grip tightened around the elf's arm and he took a deep breath through his nose. Slowly letting it out, his fingers loosened their hold. "Meanwhile, I've been trying to convince myself that it didn't mean anything. That she might as well have said _your _name."

The Maker must have been clutching his sides now. Wheezing.

"Regardless," Danarius sighed, "you arrived just in time. Where were you?"

"In Hadriana's chambers, master. I apologize for being so late."

The magister was quiet for a while, trailing fingers stilled.

"Oh," he finally spoke, a bit uncomfortably. "Yes, well, in the future, ehrm…be back sooner."

"Yes, master."

Fenris thought about sharing what he learned of Hadriana, but his exhausted mind and body begged him to remain silent. And so, he did.

Then, finally, the day ended.

vVv

_Another chapter! Phew, the day is done. Now, everyone has to wake and face their yesterdays. Emma, Thanron, and Mirima are going to be very disoriented when they awake. Particularly Thanron. Please let me know what's going on in your brain. _

_Secret Companion: It's a Fen/Hawke fic, don't you worry :)!_

_ Elyssa Cousland: Oh, good, crisis averted! She might just feel a sense of bitchiness toward him for good, even if their love is recovered. One might call it a"rival romance" from here on out. Wink. I think that makes for steaminess, personally. Besides, we gotta make the slow transition outta sweet, likkle Emma into badass, darkspawn slayin' Hawke. The Archon siblings are _both _all over the place, always. They have the most chaotic thoughts. More so than Emma and Thanron combined. It's exhausting. Although, in Mirima's defense in this particular chapter, she is very intoxicated and might be pmsing to boot. Who knows? I don't go into detail about that stuff. As for Demetri, I'm sure he'd rather be coming. Wink. Thanron has officially become my favorite subordinate. I'm very proud of him for turning out like... him. But I won't tell him that, either. Sorry for the long reply, it's a chapter in itself._

_ Zakuromidna: Hooray, here's another! Yes, Fenris is quite clench inducing. I'm pretty sure my everything clenched when I first heard his voice. Thanks very much, I'll keep at it :)_

_CrimsonDelight: That is a HUGE compliment, that I got you on the wagon. Thank you very much for the squirms of delight :)_

_ Shurikanhime: Yep, and right now, we're on an incline. Please keep your hands, feet, and panties inside the cart. Thank you for the compliment! I enjoy developing the side romances. Sometimes the main trio gets overwhelming and I have to jump into somethin' else for a bit. I feel like you guys need the breaks from their drama, too. Without them, this would be one sappy mess. Or, it still is, but Thanron and co. are the glue that keeps it together._

_Lady Velvet C. Peterson: Why, thank you, milady, you are very kind :) Hope I continue to to do so! _


	62. Minrathous

vVv

Imraddon awoke to a fierce pain in his jaw as something fleshy collided against it. His eyes tore open and he scrambled backward, brain still foggy with sleep. He met Thanron's wild stare just before he scurried too far back and tumbled off the cot. His arse met the cold, hard floor. Mind reeling, Imraddon groaned at the throbbing that had promptly made its home in his face and arse.

Thanron swiftly crossed the room to where he sat, blinking up at the raven haired elf in complete confusion. The boy was naked, but for his undergarments and the love bites marking his heaving chest and neck. His fists trembled at his sides, as though he were working very hard to restrain them. Imraddon had never seen him so flushed before and imagined waves of tangible heat to be emanating from the flesh.

He remained silent, but his penetrating eyes demanded immediate answers. Imraddon furrowed his brow as he widely stared back. Instead of providing an explanation, he asked a sighed question to start them off.

"Well, what do you remember, then?"

Thanron inhaled sharply through his nose at the implication that...things...took place. And then something caught his eyes, causing them to screw up in alarmed disgust.

"Those love bites—?" Thanron cried, taking a step back. His foot caught the bundle of fabric that was his tunic and he flailed both arms like windmills before crashing to the ground. "I didn't—" he kicked at the floor, scooting away until his back met the wall. "I wouldn't—"

The boy's reaction was quite an aggressive dose of reality. Imraddon watched him with blank eyes, feeling much like someone had dumped a bucket of ice water over his head. He blinked away the pain of rejection and reminded himself that Thanron had, in fact, been heavily drunk. The elf's judgement had been impaired; he was just giddy, aroused, and a virgin to mead's venom. And Imraddon had been the only person there. If a female had stood beside him, Thanron would have sought her, instead.

So, Imraddon reasoned with himself as he rose from the floor, this should not come as such a painful surprise. And rather, he should focus on calming Thanron, as he must have been very frightened. Calmly explain the situation and go back to the way things had been. Sensitivity and understanding.

"You had too much to drink last night— against my warnings, I might add. And when I delivered you back to your chambers, you…" Imraddon clamped his lips shut when Thanron scrambled to his feet and charged. In a split moment's decision, Imraddon decided to remain still as the elf's arm winded back.

He clenched his teeth less than a second before knuckles were buried in his cheek. Imraddon saw a smattering of black dots as he collided with the door. Blood immediately filled the space of his mouth and Imraddon gagged on the taste, bending forward to spit it out.  
vVv

Thanron recoiled.

Imraddon wash hunched, hands on his knees, and coughing up blood. It was a foul sight and he immediately felt the hot shame to have caused it.

Thanron needed to leave before he could hurt him anymore. Wasn't thinking clearly, everything hurt. Damn it, his head was pounding as hard as anything. And he felt rolls nausea in his gut, threatening to rise.

Thanron broke for the door, not glancing back at the man, and escaped into the corridor.

vVv

"Please," Larus sighed, "stop crying, Ara."

"Okay-y, I'm sorry."

He sat before the fire in Danarius's study, watching her flit about the room. His friend was in search of a certain number of books and documents for reasons neither of them knew. Arathea held a list in her hands, and peered about the study in search of its items. They caught eyes and the elf's face twisted in sadness.

"I'm sorry," she sobbed, hiding herself behind her hands. Larus rose from the couch and closed the space between them. He pried Ara's hands away and smiled at the sight of her. She was a beautiful mess. Covered in tears and snot, eyes red and puffy since last night, and chin quivering in the cutest, saddest pout Larus had ever laid his gaze upon. He kissed her deeply, arms closing around the elf's frame.

Pulling away, he pushed the tear soaked hair from her face.

"Listen," Larus murmured gently, squeezing her arms. "I love you. I promise I'll be back for you." He gave her a soft shake, smiling in sincerity. She had no idea how much he loved her. Larus would be back, that was for damned certain. "I have to sort some things out at home before I come get you. Like we talked about. Minrathous is a dangerous place for an elf, I need to ensure you will be safe there. Paperwork needs to be done, mothers need to be tamed." He shuddered to think what his mother was going to say. The broad was as old-fashioned as they came.

Larus wiped the sleeve of his tunic against her nose. The elf nodded, "Okay. You'll come back."

"You can be certain," he answered before pausing, "well— unless something happens. You know. Unexpected." Like death. It was not a rare thing in a voyage, nor in the city.

Arathea promptly began to wail, "Why would you say that?"

The healer winced and wondered that himself.

Just then, the door opened and the pair whipped their heads around to see.

Danarius froze in the doorway, staring at the couple with wide eyes. Larus supposed there was only one conclusion anyone could draw, with the elf wrapped beneath his arms. Then, the magister spoke, face reverted back to his usual calm.

"I'm leaving with Nam, would you join us? Fenris is staying behind with Emma— so I could use a healing hand."

Larus, blinking in confusion, answered, "Yes." Unleashing Arathea, he stepped to the magister. "You're going to Minrathous?"

"Yes. Myself, Emma, and some of the elves." Danarius turned to wink at Arathea. "Would you like to stay with Larus or leave tomorrow with the rest?"

Larus sighed as the elf began to cry again and answered Danarius with a nod.

His friend smiled in a mischievous way, like a child with a secret, before plucking a scroll from a nearby shelf and leaving the study.

"Why are you still crying?" Larus blurted in exasperation, pulling the girl to his chest.

Arathea buried her nose in his robes, "I'm so happy!"

vVv

Danarius was nowhere in sight when Emma awoke in the midmorning light. She squinted at the brightness between parted fingers and moaned at the throbbing in her head. What had happened last night? A chorus of birdsong poured into the room, its beauty scarred by Emma's pain. She turned into one end of the pillow and folded the second half over her head.

A sudden burst of sickness erupted inside Emma's belly, and she thrashed herself upright. Bile rose faster than she could have prepared for. In a flash, Emma slapped a hand to her mouth and spewed chunky redness between her fingers. She watched with heated cheeks as it speckled against the lavish covlet. The second wave hit and she leaned to puke it up on the oakwood floor, instead. Emma heard a small curse, followed by the sound of water splashing against wood. Then a vase was pushed beneath her chin, which she did not hesitate to puke into.

When the gagging had ended, she glanced up from the vase to see Fenris. He was watching with wide eyes, hands extended just before him, like he wanted to help in some way. The sight of him, his obvious concern, stirred something inside of her.

Not something good. She leaned to retch more into the vase.

"I will send for Larus," he spoke quickly and turned on his heels. He turned again, struck with realization. "I forgot, Danarius left you a potion—"

At the sound of a loud crash, she whipped around and saw the elf sprawled out on the floor, blinking up at the ceiling in surprise. Poor Fenris had slipped in the puddle of water he had emptied from the vase. Rose petals scattered the floor around him. The sight brought her a strange sense of satisfaction. She smiled, wiping the edge of her palm across her lips.

Fenris winced and rose from the floor, passing a glare at the puddle as if it were a living entity that had planned the attack. He rubbed the small of his back with one hand and pointed to Emma's bedside table with the other. She turned to find a stout bottle with a note peeking out beneath the glass. Grabbing the bottle, Emma uncorked it and gave it a curious sniff. The scent of burnt toast filled her nose. She gave it a small sip and cringed, falling into a fit of coughs. This was not a potion she was familiar with.

"Augh," she grimaced, before bringing the bottle to her lips again. Emma pinched her nose and downed the rest, fighting the urge to gag each time she swallowed. "That's awful," she coughed, sitting the bottle back atop the bedside table. Emma picked up the note and frowned in surprise at how many lines it bore.

"_Darling Wife,_

_That was quite thrilling to write. Wife. One more time." _The next letters were bigger and elegantly drawn, _"Wife." _Emma snorted, rolling her eyes. _"I hope you are not feeling too horrid this morning. I regret not being there to soothe your pains. Drink the potion, it will help. _

_In the first light of morning, I received quite a surprising message from Lord Nam, himself. All of our guests are (finally) leaving today, and many of them already have. But Lord Nam has requested me to come with him to Minrathous for the remainder of the election. In case you did not know, Lord Nam is a very influential man in Tevinter. He practically heads the Magisterium and acts as something of a chief counselor to the Archon. _

_That said, I can hardly refuse, can I? I have no idea as to how I won him over as he was quite against all of my ideals, as well as our marriage. Or perhaps he deems my winning inevitable and desires a place of influence at my side. Whichever the case, we did something right, because he wants to become a patron in the election! His help will greatly increase my chances of being elected. _

_I have gone. So, abrupt, I apologize. But Lord Nam was insistent, and I did not want to move you in your state. You really drank more than I thought humanly possible. Anyway, the elves are packing now, which is why I could not leave with you. Hopefully, you will be ready to embark tomorrow. _

vVv

Fenris watched her face, searching for a lift of brows or parting of lips that might indicate as to what in Maker's name was going on. He would have stolen a peak at the letter himself, if only the elf could read.

Danarius had given him odd parting words before leaving their chambers.

"Guard her," he had instructed with hard eyes. "Kill any creature who stares too long. Particularly the kind with curly, blond hair and pompous attitudes." Danarius then gripped the elf by the back of his neck and gently pressed their brows together. "And guard yourself, too." Fenris had nodded once, slowly. Then, Danarius gave his cheek a soft pat before he turned and exited the room. The elf was left wondering what had happened for hours, until Emma finally awoke with a pained groan.

He leaned closer when a crease formed between her brows. Was that confusion?

Fenris needed to learn how to sodding read.

vVv

_I have left Fenris to guard you, should anyone attempt to take advantage of my absence. He has been instructed to kill them if they touch you, friend or foe. Archon's son or no. Other than that, the elf is yours to task. _

_ I love you and I will not stop thinking of you until we are reunited, which should be in about three weeks._

_Safe travels,_

_Danarius _

Emma closed the letter and swiped a hand across her brow. Minrathous. They would be staying, indefinitely, in Minrathous. She frowned and lifted her eyes to the elf, who was staring at Emma with an unnerving intensity.

"Yes?" she flinched.

vVv

Fenris had to refrain from shouting the words, and forced his voice into an even tone.

"What did it say?"

"The letter?"

_Yes, the bloody letter!_

He nodded once and glanced out the window, as if the information only half interested him. But really, he couldn't see beyond the glass pane, he was so focused on Emma's response.

"Oh," her voice clipped at the end in question, "did Danarius not tell you?"

Fenris flicked his eyes back to her, trying to hide the awed disbelief behind his stare. Was she toying with him and stretching this out? He could have learned to read by now and inspect the letter himself.

"No, he did not."

"You must be quite confused, then."

vVv

The elf looked like he was about to do something drastic. Emma knew she was being childish, but it was suddenly so _fun _to frustrate him. His eyes had darkened in the manner she used to love and fear. His fists were squeezed tightly at his sides. His breathing was forced into a false evenness. And, oh, who could overlook the jumping muscles in his jaw?

vVv

So, she was toying with him, after all. The notion caused him pain, but anger helped to ease its sting again. As it had in the ballroom.

He glared at her childish charade before turning to answer the door as it sounded a hurried knocking.

Demetri was standing there when he opened the door, looking ruffled as he always did. His hair was in particular disarray and his clothes were disheveled, as if he had just thrown them on and sped down the hall.

"Hey," he regarded the elf before shoving past him into the room.

Fenris clasped his retreating arm, brow furrowed in warning. Growling in agitation, Demetri wrenched his arm away and turned to point a finger at the elf. Emma was watching with wide eyes as the prince leaned in to Fenris, dropping his voice to a low murmur.

"Look," he spoke gravely, "I understand that you are only following orders. But we both know Danarius is unwell, and she is unwilling." Demetri's voice shook with anger, "I'm trying to help her. You want her to be safe, don't you?"

Fenris flinched at the words and furrowed his brow. Of course, he wanted her safe. But how was he going to help her? Escape? Escape was impossible. Danarius would find her. He has always found Fenris. And Emma's punishment would be great.

"No! You—," Fenris sputtered, fear pouring down his throat like a hot syrup. He gripped Demetri by his tunic, "you can't. You cannot help her."

vVv

Emma frowned at the desperation etched into Fenris's face. What in the world were they speaking of? Their words were too hushed and hurried for her to grasp. Emma took cautious steps toward them, squinting in an effort to understand.

"I will try," Demetri was hissing, "I must."

"You damned idiot," Fenris was shaking his head, "you will cost her the freedoms she has obtained." His voice rose and his words trembled around it, "You will put her in a cell, beneath the earth, I swear it. She will never be as free as she is now—"

vVv

"'As free as she is now'?" Emma exclaimed with a bitter laugh. "Freedom is not being trapped in a castle, forced to play pretend with a man who is—" she shook her head with widening eyes, "_beyond _my help." Emma turned to Demetri, pleadingly, "I don't even have my thoughts, anymore. I am frightened." Taking a step forth, "I had thought it was a dream… you think you can get me away?"

The blood mage nodded once with softening eyes.

"I know I can."

"Was Lord Nam your doing?"

"No," he said quickly, curls brushing against his brow, "I came to speak with you before I left. I had planned to go home and seek the aid of a senate member whom I had believed could draw Danarius to the capital. Lord Nam has helped in ways he knows not for Danarius has already gone. Once you are in Minrathous, I will only need to contact a few of my connections, grease a few palms, and you should be free."

Lord Nam? Minrathous? So Danarius had been summoned to the capital for another campaign. And Emma was going, too? With Fenris as her escort.

Why were they attempting an escape in Minrathous, with Danarius so close by? If Demetri truly wished for Emma's freedom…

"Why would you not escape on the way there?" he voiced aloud. If Demetri and Emma were determined to carry out this dreadful plan, he could at least try and make it more likely to succeed. "It will be at least three weeks until Danarius arrives in Minrathous. A three week head start."

"Don't you think I thought of that?" Demetri snapped. "I need to contact many people, in person, in order to guarantee her safe passage. Letters can end up in the wrong hands, I need to meet with my contacts in the flesh. And with Danarius's many connections, a simple escape into the forest will not be enough. She needs to be overseas. And I don't have papers for her passage. Slavers will capture her at the docks, and bring her right back to Danarius. Or she will be sold to a new master." He ran a hand through his hair, glancing between them both. "Minrathous."

"Minrathous," Emma agreed.

Fenris was scowling.

"Well, I have to go find Mirima," Demetri stepped to the door. He turned, with his hand around the knob. "I'll send word for you in Minrathous," he bowed once to Emma, and nodded at the elf. "Protect her," he spoke, before disappearing into the hall and shutting the door behind him.

At least Fenris understood the damned situation now.

"Get dressed," he said quietly with a small glance in Emma's direction, "we should help with preparations."

vVv

Thanron shoved through the crowd, receiving many grunts and hisses. Everyone was crammed in the kitchens and he was trying to fight his way to the front to find out why.

He caught Padhill by the elbow and pushed an elf aside to get to him.

"Wha's the fuss about?" Thanron asked over the noise.

"List," Padhill answered gruffly. "Our elf what can read is givin' it a look. List o' names, he just said, who'll go to Minrathous."

Thanron furrowed his brow in confusion.

"Go to Minrathous? Why d'we need to go? Master not stayin' with a friend this time?"

"'Heard he bought n'estate last time he was up there. Needs some elves to come keep the home during his stay."

Thanron turned and continued his struggle forth.

The elf who could read, eh?

Sure enough, when Thanron pushed through the rest of the crowd, Imraddon was there. His back was turned to read a paper that was pinned against the wall. Down its middle went several lines that were nothing but that to Thanron; a smattering of lines. He turned, shoulders slumping.

Thanron's face heated in shame when he saw the swollen redness along the elf's cheek and jaw. Imraddon's features notably saddened at the sight of him, and Thanron felt an apology forming on his lips. Before he could get the words out, however,

"I am going to Minrathous," he said softly.

Thanron felt a tinge of unease.

"Am I?"

Imraddon lowered his chin and shook his head as Thanron stared at the blond hair.

"Rare for an elf to read'n'write. Didn't know you could. Should've."

Imraddon lifted his somber gaze, eyes stormy as they ever were.

"You kissed _me_," he said quietly. Ripping the parchment from the wall, he began to read out the names of elves who would be moving to Minrathous.

And even though Thanron knew his name wasn't scrawled into the paper, he still watched Imraddon's lips and listened for the sound.

Disappointment.

He had realized it for himself. That he kissed the elf. That's why he hit him. Because he realized what he had done. And that he wanted to do it again. It scared the daylight out of him.

But now, Imraddon was leaving. Problem solved.

He should consider it a blessing. No more of...this. Thanron would recollect himself during the elf's stay in the capital. He should be relieved.

But he wasn't.

vVv

A new chapter in our story is beginning. Minrathous. That is, if Fenris and Emma don't kill eachother on the way there.

Zakuromidna: I'm glad you enjoyed the chapter. And yes, Hadriana certainly has some issues. Emma's being frustrating, too, no doubt. It's the effects of the spell.

ElyssaCousland: I'm glad you hate and love it. And, oh, how I love to torment. Good that you're intrigued, there's more Hadriana to come. Yep, Fenris was made to subdue the demon inside Danarius with his lyrium. Danarius never needed a bodyguard, pshaw.

CrimsonDelight: Right. Thank you. I wanted to show that she is a tormented woman, not just a bitch. When I played the game, I always wondered, "what the hell happened to make her this way?"

LostSpace: Three weeks together across country without Danarius? Who knows what'll happen? I do. Heh.

Polishsarmats: She does hate Danarius, but now she also loves him. I know it's frustrating. I'm glad to hear you're enjoying it, despite the frustration.

Eureka234: Yep, even Hadriana has a tale of woe. Right, she's not in love with Demetri, she just dreamt about his promise to help her and spoke his name. Hope this chapter was worth the wait.

knight enchanter: Oh my god, I love you for saying that. Unfortunately, Thanron and Imraddon are too nonDA to be posted to a fanfiction site, and too DA to become my own thing. So I can only include them here. Maybe, one day, I'll write an original story and base it off of them. I'm so happy you like reading their story arc. I'll continue to keep things between them interesting.

Casmir1080: I'm very pleased that you like it. I'm a sucker for plot twists, I find them necessary to keep readers' interest. Hopefully, you enjoyed this new twist. Well, it's not really a twist...but, still. You'll be seein' more Fenma love, promise.

Lady Velvet C. Peterson: I hear ya. Been pretty busy lately, myself. Hang in there, milady. Hope this chapter relaxed you for a bit.


	63. Not on the list

vVv

Demetri gripped another dress in his fist and stuffed it into the bag, shoving it down to make room for more. He emptied the wardrobe of Mirima's many outfits, unsure as to how she deemed it necessary to bring so many. She had a different dress for almost every day of the month. Had she any clothes left at home? Demetri checked under the bed for loose clothing before forcing the bag shut with a sharp sigh.

It was early afternoon and Mirima was still nowhere in sight. That girl gave him headaches left and right. If Demetri thought on it, _all _the women in his life gave him headaches. Between Emma, Demetri, and Hadriana, it was a strange occasion for the poor man's head to _not _be pounding.

He flung the positively pregnant bag over his shoulder and hobbled out of the room. Worry began to seep into his veins as he stared down the corridors. She had seemed strange the previous night, although his sister had always been prone to periods of strangeness. Demetri avoided her when she became so. Perhaps, last night, he should have said something.

Demetri resolved to ask the slaves if they had seen her leave with the others. As he neared the staircase, a door to his right opened and Demetri glanced in its direction. The blood mage did a double-take when he saw that it was Mirima.

"Mirima," he sighed—in equal relief and exasperation—dropping the bag at his feet, "where the hell have you been? It's two in the afternoon, we were meant to leave this morning. By the time we reach the inn, there won't be any rooms left—are...why are you crying?"

Demetri grunted in surprise when she slammed her body against his, wrapping both arms around him. Mirima began to weep into his robes as he stood there, frozen, unsure of the proper response.

His sister never liked to cry in front of him, and nor did he. In the rare occasions that she did succumb to sadness, Mirima fled the room.

Demetri held his arms out with wide eyes. This was entirely new. What in the world had happened to make her so vulnerable? Slowly, carefully, and with reddened cheeks, Demetri rested his arms across her back. He enveloped her, she was so small in his arms; fragile.

It didn't feel right, but it didn't feel wrong. Perhaps, because it was just so foreign. Hugging his little sister as she cried against his chest.

The blood mage glanced around to see if they were still alone before parting his lips.

"What happened, Mirima?"

He felt her head move against his chest in refusal to speak.

"Yes, tell me," he insisted, grabbing her shoulders and gently pushing her back. The skin around her eyes was raw, as though Mirima had been crying long before she opened the door. "If not right now, then soon."

"Fine," she sighed, swiping fingers beneath her eyes, and snorted. "There goes my makeup."

Demetri's lips lifted in a half smile, "A naked face becomes you."

Mirima rolled her eyes and shrugged out of his hold.

"I'll be downstairs once I pack."

The blood mage bent to grip the bag's straps and repositioned it over his back, "Already did," he huffed under the load, "we need to have a serious talk about your dress addiction."

vVv

"Dammit, Pig!"

Thanron growled, smacking the horse's backside, who snorted in indignation.

Bending again, the elf ran his hand down the brute's leg—lest he throw a fit—and tapped the muscle in a signaling gesture. An I'm-fixin'-to-do-you-a-real-big-favor-if-you'll-just-stay-the-fuck-still kind of gesture. Once again, the horse squared himself like he found the idea of hoof pickin' mighty nice and would love to accept the offer. Thanron gave the horse's leg a small squeeze so the horse would let him grab at his hoof and grip it between his thighs. Then Thanron would set to removin' stones and grime with the horse pick. Pig neighed and kicked his legs out of reach. A-fuckin'-gain.

Thanron dropped tired arms with a smack against his side and glared at the horse.

"You want all those rocks—" he held his hands up, shrugging, "fine. I was try'na keep you from suffrin' but maybe you like rocks in your hoofs. You'd get rocks in your hoofs if you were out in the wild, woulnd't ya? Who'm I to stop nature? Who'm I to—"

The elf slapped a hand to his eyes and collapsed onto the stool, bringing a second hand to tangle in his hair.

"Oh, Maker, I—" Thanron heaved a shaking breath as he shifted uncomfortably. He was feelin' completely out of sorts. Aching all over his body and just… _angry_. And sad. The morning had been a rushing mess of work. The elf stayed focused on each task, _real _focused. So focused, his mind didn't even wander. Thanron hummed as he scrubbed the barnwood, talked to the goats as he chopped wood, and counted steps in between each task. Really…not letting his damned thoughts veer off course.

But since the damned horse wasn't lettin' him finish his final chore, it left a gaping hole in his mind. An unoccupied pondering zone with bad things crowding around its edges. Things that wanted to address that annoying ache in his heart. And the list without his name. And—

"Want some oats?" Thanron implored the horse as he lept from the stool.

Pig knickered at the mention of oats and shook his mane in a _fuck yes_.

"Then you let me finish on your last hoof," Thanron grabbed at the hoof pick and sternly pointed it to the horse's nose, "or there'll be no oats."

Pig scuffed his hoof along the floor and snorted in acknowledgement. The horse now knew the gravity of the situation and was ready to be cooperative. Sure enough, Thanron easily finished with the last hoof without so much as a wiggle from Pig and rewarded him with an entire bucket of oats.

Thanron smiled at the horse's satisfaction as he finished the last oat. But then he realized he was fresh out of work, with his mind ripe for the picking. Damn. He swiped his hands against his trousers to rid them of horse slobber. Then, he ran outside the barn, into the rain, and towards the back entrance of the house. He could help the others with packin' up for the trip to keep his mind busy.

To keep the impending sadness at bay.

vVv

The day was spent loading essentials into crates that would be delivered to Danarius's estate in Minrathous. Things that he could not leave behind, and things that could not be rebought in the capital. Which included a great deal many things. From scrolls, to books that were falling apart at the seams, to rare herbs and potions. The elves had a list to go on that they passed around, a scroll that dropped ten feet in length. Imraddon was quite busy with translations. Danarius must have spent an entire hour scribbling things down. Turned out, the magister was something of a packrat.

Fenris did not leave Emma's side throughout the day, though they did not speak a word to each other. The sexual tension between them had given way to something hostile. Emma could not help the scowl that painted her face when she met his eyes. And each time she looked at him with disdain, he returned the same sour expression.

Emma did not understand what she had seen in him before. He was rude, proud without the reason to be, grudging, and cold. Both metaphorically and literally.

Fenris and Emma had been tasked to collect items from Danarius's private alchemy chamber, as they were the only ones permitted to enter. When Emma had been reaching for an elixir that was too high for her fingers to wrap around, his hand brushed hers. She inhaled through teeth, dropping her hand away as an unpleasant surge shot through it. Painful. Like electricity. Emma glared up at the elf in surprise, holding her hand to her chest.

vVv

He had been hurt by her recoil, initially. But that was soon replaced by annoyance. What reason had she to be disgusted with him? Lacking in love, he understood. But did the blood magic cause her to resent him, as well as no longer love him? That seemed unnecessary. Was it the spell or… did she really dislike him on her own? And just what had prompted that?

The spell shed light on his faults, his mind decided. That was the only explanation.

Damn her for not seeing them before. For making him think that someone accepted him as he was so… entirely. Damn her for every kind word.

Emma was rubbing her fingers, peering again at the rows of potions.

"What's next?" she asked, eyes rested on a jar full of bear claws. Fenris frowned in confusion as she stuck a hand in the jar and collected a claw, examining its point. "What do you suppose he uses this for?" Emma murmured to herself. When the elf did not respond, she glanced up at him.

"Hm?" she put the claw back, eyes wandering the next row. "What's next on the list?"

Fenris's eyes dropped to the list he had been holding for her and felt himself heat in shame as he stared at the meaningless lines. In an attempt to save face, Fenris held out the list for Emma to see for herself. She accepted it with a frown, fingers slowly curling around its edge.

Then, Emma's face lit with realization.

"Oh, I forgot," she laughed, staring down at the parchment. "You can't read."

Fenris tensed in anger. She might as well have dipped her hand in the jar of beetle dung and smeared it in his face. How could she forget something like that, when she spent hours reading to him for the very same reason? Humiliation. This entire situation was a endless dance of humiliation. It was their recent waltz in the ballroom, and he was forced into its step with their every glance. He would have rather been erased from her memory than… _this. _

The elf was already developing an ache in his head from the constant barrage of mental torture. How was he to endure _three weeks_ as this girl's personal guard?

vVv

Thanron murmured into his cup, "Mead, we mead again." He winced at the awful pun —as well as the taste— glad no one else had been near enough to hear it. Maybe the stuff was already kickin' in.

There were lots of leftovers from the wedding. Foods that were slow to perish. Good. Plenty to take for the trip. And Emma would see it that the elves were fed, her bein' so generous and all. A journey alone with the master would not have been so pleasant. Back in the days before she came.

Whenever the elves came back from a trip to Minrathous, they complained of the masters' treatment— or lack thereof. He often ignored their needs to rest or eat, and he punished them for not meeting his enough. Now, the she-human seemed to be taming him. Emma treated the elves right and he was following suit. Who would'a imagined it? Not Thanron, who had spent his entire life accustomed to such ways.

Although, Danarius had never outright been cruel to him. Thanron would reckon it was because Danarius had seen 'im be born. Maybe the guy liked babies, and couldn't be mean after seein' Thanron as one. Or maybe it was on account of Thanron bein' stuck in the barn, mostly, without reason to be in his presence—

A plate was set before him and Thanron glanced up to see who placed it. Just like that, he was ripped from the thoughts meant to distract him from the very oaf who stared down at him.

"Eat," Imraddon sat himself across from Thanron.

He shoved the food away, "Already did. Thanks."

"You have been hard at work all day," the blonde elf countered, pushing the plate back in place. "A single fig and a pint of mead is not enough."

"Not hungry," the elf sighed, pushing against the table's edge. Funny how the git was insistent that he eat, while not touching his own food. Thanron glanced up at him again, brow furrowing as he felt the damned ache in full. "Hey," the elf ground out when he realized where Imraddon was staring. "Eyes up here."

"I should not have marked you," Imraddon spoke softly, eyes leaving Thanron's neck to fix on his face, "that was foolish. I am sorry."

Thanron flushed and gripped his pint cup tighter.

"Yeah," the elf agreed with a curt nod before drawing a gulp of mead. "Yeah," he nodded again, "you shouldn't of." Thanron met his eyes, jaw tightening as he fought through the embarrassment. _C'mon, be a man about it,_ his mind growled. "But, I marked you up, too, so you don't gotta beat yourself up about it."

Imraddon blinked once, before a new cloud settled in his stormy eyes.

"I have not beaten myself up about it," he corrected the elf, "... you have."

Thanron set down his cup with a sigh, running a hand through his hair.

"Hey, I—," Thanron struggled as he stared holes into the table, "y'know. Got surprised this mornin'. I felt real bad, soon as I did it. I just got worried you tried to..." Thanron glanced up with another flush.

"Fuck you?" Imraddon offered flatly.

Thanron jerked upright with wide eyes. He immediately stared around to make sure they hadn't been heard. Then, he leaned across the table with a hissed, "_shut up_." Thanron glanced around again. When his gaze returned to Imraddon, the elf was glaring.

"I would never take advantage of someone," he muttered, eyes darkening further. "Do you not know me well enough? You kissed me, Thanron," The elf frantically hushed him again and Imraddon brought his voice to a whisper, though continuing his words. "I thought—" he blinked away a thought, "well, that does not matter. You kissed me." Imraddon leaned closer, and Thanron would have moved away if it weren't for the need to hear what the elf had to say. "You wanted to take things further, but I stopped us from doing anything more. Because I knew you were not thinking clearly."

Thanron leaned back at that, unable to draw in a full breath. He had tried to do more? He buried his face in both hands and felt a fire ignite beneath his skin. Damn, damn, damn.

Thanron lifted his hot face when he heard Imraddon snort.

"You need not worry," the elf murmured dully. "I do not plan to return from Minrathous. I no longer wish to be the cause for your suffering."

"Wha—" Thanron sputtered as the heat immediately dispersed, "how?"

"When Master Danarius delivered the list of names this morning, he informed me that many Tevinters were interested in purchasing me off of him. He said they wanted me for my cooking abilities. He is giving me the option, and I plan to take it."

With that, Imraddon rose from the bench, food untouched, and left an open-mouthed Thanron to stare at his empty seat.

vVv

Emma entered the kitchens with Fenris in tow. She beelined for the food. It had been a long day, and her stomach cramped in anticipation as the smell of meat dumplings filled her nose. Piling a plate high with the doughy goodness, she scanned the room.

Her eyes fell on Thanron, who was picking at a meat dumpling with distaste. Unless it was his third plate, Emma did not understand his lack of appetite. He ate like a mad horse. But given the slumped shoulders, and the drooping head, she suspected a belly ache wasn't the cause. Maybe, a heartache.

Emma caught Fenris staring at a square of parchment that was pinned to the wall beside them. She smiled at the small scowl of frustration on his face she gave the list a once over. _Ah_, Emma realized as her smile fell, _that's why he's sad._

His closest friends were leaving for Minrathous. Fenris, Arathea, Imraddon, herself. They would be leaving without him.

Well, that wouldn't do, at all. Emma grabbed her plate and headed straight for the young elf.

"So," Emma began as she sat down. The elf flinched at the sudden sound, before slowly raising his head. "No need for a barnboy in Minrathous, eh?"

Thanron's face turned sour as he stared at her.

"No barns," he answered flatly, dropping eyes to his plate.

Emma smiled and rolled her eyes.

"Oh, Thanron, as if I'd leave you here all alone."

The elf's head snapped up fast enough to make her cringe and rub her neck.

"I'm not on the list!" he exclaimed with wide eyes.

Emma laughed, "You're on _my _list. I doubt Danarius will even care. And if he does, I'll just say you're an assistant cook to Imraddon, and I personally wanted you in the kitchens with him."

"_Honest_?" Thanron cried, leaning across the table. When Emma laughed and nodded her head, he gripped her by the cheeks and kissed her square on the mouth. "_Aw, damn,_" he grinned and rose from the bench, looking like he didn't quite know what to do with himself. "Did I ever tell you you're the greatest?" Thanron plopped back down into his seat and shoved a dumpling into his mouth. "'Cause y'are," he spoke around the bite. "Imraddon's gonna—… 'ey," Thanron pointed a grease covered finger at her, "don't tell 'im. I wanna see the look on 'is face when I join you guys tomorrow."

Emma laughed and promised not to tell. She was happy to see him smiling again. Even a moment without a grinning Thanron is a moment too many.

Thanron and Emma spent their meals talking about the prospects of Minrathous. The elf had never so much as left the estate, let alone travelled to the capital. He was bubbling with the idea of it, asking permission to bring along his favorite horse, Pig.

Emma had raised her brow upon hearing the strange name.

"'Feller eats more'n'a pig and rolls in the mud after every rain."

After they had finished eating, they each bid the other a good night, although Thanron mentioned doubts for a full night's sleep with so exciting a journey ahead. He thanked her again and again as they took separate paths down the corridor.

vVv

She had seemed her old self while talking with Thanron. Bright, happy, and teasing. It made Fenris ache to see it.

Then, there was the unshielded glance of disinterest when she realized he was beside her.

Thankfully, Emma didn't argue his sleeping in the same room as her with their changed circumstances. Even through her newfound dislike for the elf, Emma wouldn't turn him away from a warm place to sleep.

Emma drifted off rather quickly.

Her small frown eased into evenness. As she slept, it was easy to pretend that Emma was unchanged.

vVv

_I'm sorry that my updates are so unpredictable. Alas, so is my schedule. Anyway! This chapter was more Thanron/Imraddon focused. They've wracked up quite a fanbase! I'm proud, since they're OC's. Hope Emma's not too annoying. She'll come around, it's entirely the blood magic's fault. I usually don't spoil, but I feel like you guys would feel discouraged by her behavior. Just know the spell prompts her not only to _not _love Fenris but to also dislike him. And Fenris doesn't know that. Demetri knows, but he didn't tell him. Silly Demetri._

_LostSpace: He just meant he has the _right _to claim her head, as her owner. She was all, "you can't". And he was saying "yes, I really can, it's the law." He has no voodoo power over her other than the fact she loves him. And no, it can't be extracted. The spell seeped inside and altered her mind. Yep, Demetri's on it! We'll see if his plan works. Danarius is no fool, mind you. Thanks for the thought provoking questions, I love answering them. It helps me sort out my own thoughts._

_ElyssaCousland: Thankyouthankyouthankyou. I love them. They're the only story arc where I don't know what's gonna go down until after I write it. I get just as surprised. Everything else is super duper planned. Once I'm done with this, I'll play around with the idea of their own story. It all depends on how they pan out in here, really. They might DIE. I hope not. I'm so glad you like._

_PlasterRose:Thank you so much! It makes me so happy to read that you like something little old me sat down and wrote. I hope to keep pleasing._

_unhappytidings: Right? Had to spice things up a bit. Although, it is definitely a drama, and a drama first. I don't wanna deceive. Towards the end will come the action. But I suppose this three week trip will be adventurous. It's mostly about the many relationships and the psychological mess they're all in. Love me some psychological drama romance stuff. Yeah, Emma will grow, but it won't happen overnight. Thanks for reading, love the feedback. _

_Lady Velvet C. Peterson: That's awesome! As you can tell by the week long delivery of this chapter, I too suffer a busy school schedule. Writing is a great outlet, I totes agree! Reading and writing is relaxation embedded in productivity. _

_Eureka234: Yeah, I was feelin' a bit stuffy, locked away in the castle. It'll be good to stretch my legs and delve into new territory._

_SilentLily: Thank you so much. Beauty in writing is one of the highest compliments. Even higher is being told one's writing made the reader feel something, so I'm ecstatic that you did. _


	64. All, mount!

vVv

"No," Fenris repeated through rigid lips, arms folded tight across his chest. He was having some difficulty, the longer this folly carried on, refraining from shaking reason into her. Emma was not budging on the matter, and they argued all through breakfast, because Fenris could not desist, either. Literally. Danarius would hang him upside-down in the dungeon if the elf let her do this. And if his new estate did not contain a dungeon, Danarius would see to its construction and hang Fenris upside-down in it.

Not to mention, despite her new infuriating attitude, Fenris did care for the girl's safety. And allowing her to saddle a horse as they travelled the bandit ridden roads of Tevinter would be very unsafe.

"I do not wish to debate," Emma sighed, gently laying her fork down. And for just a beautiful moment, the elf believed she was yielding. Instead, she said, "I will ride. End of discussion."

Fenris, having had quite enough, slammed his fist against the table. After flinching in surprise, Emma glared at him.

"Stupid gir—" The elf closed his eyes, inhaling a deep breath before trying again. Opening his lids, Fenris cocked his head with a strained smile, "Lady Vanasidhion," he took some satisfaction in watching her cringe, "I must beg you to accept this without further resistance. There are bandits," Fenris listed while bending each of his fingers, "there are spies, there are wild beasts, there are rogue demons, there are wandering lunatics." He leaned toward her, laying a palm against the table. "We are not riding to your grandmother's house and delivering figs, my lady. We are transporting the priceless goods and bride belonging to Tevinter's most powerful and wealthy magister."

When Emma parted her lips to speak, Fenris pressed a finger against them.

"It will be a successful voyage if we are only under attack once a day. You cannot and will not be placed in the open, where an arrow can pierce your heart at any moment. You will remain in the carriage. You will not ride. End of discussion. Finish your eggs."

The human didn't breach the subject again, though she stared daggers that dug just as deep into Fenris's skin. She could be such a child.

vVv

After all the elves had left the kitchens, Imraddon lingered. He thought about Thanron.

They had shared a lousy goodbye last night. Years and years as friends, and Imraddon chose to end things so gracelessly. If Thanron was not too mad… maybe today, it could be better. Maybe it would ease the stifling pain in his chest.

It was in the kitchens that he first met Thanron in the flesh. The very moment the six-year-old Imraddon first laid eyes on him, he resolved to protect him.

_Imraddon laid his square of bread and cheese beside the ill woman."Nu ame kassan," he said softly. When Nulam began to protest, he shrugged with a frown, "I am not hungry," he lied, praying his cramping stomach would remain silent, "and you need to stay pannas—strong." Imraddon glanced at the bundle she cradled in her arms. Black hair peeked out from its opening, pointing in all directions. "How is your lumin—erm...child?"_

_Nulam smiled weakly, eyes brightening at the subject._

"_He's good—" she began in a rasp before pausing to close her eyes. Imraddon knelt down beside Nulam, and placed a comforting hand upon her shoulder as the pain passed. Finally, she reopened her eyes and continued. "He's doin' much better now. I didn't think he was gonna ...he's so small."_

"_Can I see?" Imraddon asked, staring curiously at the bundle._

_Nulam nodded, rearranging herself against the wall._

"_Y'wanna hold 'im?"_

_He nodded eagerly, eyes wide._

"_Set down," she smiled. _

_Imraddon scrambled to sit beside her, holding out his arms the way she instructed. He inhaled when the baby was carefully rested upon them. Almost immediately, the baby yawned and opened his little eyes and stared straight at Imraddon. The elf felt his lips spread in a big smile. It was Imraddon's first smile since he had arrived at the master's mansion. The baby seemed to smile right back at him. _

"_Imraddon?" Nulam's soft voice was full of concern beside him. "Why...why are you crying?"_

"_What is…panaver— what is his name?" he asked, eyes still glued to the tiny elf's._

_Nulam cleared her throat, "I haven't—he hasn't got a name yet."_

_The smile on Imraddon's face widened when the baby made a gurgling sound, bubbles forming about his lips. "He is funny," the boy giggled. He mimicked the gurgling sound in his throat and the baby's eyes widened into saucers before his brow furrowed in a deep from. "Oh no, he thinks I am unkind to him." Imraddon shook his head, "I would never," he told the sulking baby._

"_No," Nulam let out a breathy laugh, "he's much too young….say, Imraddon. I ain't picked out a name yet…" she hinted with a smile, "got any ideas?"_

_Imraddon glanced at her, frowning, before returning his gaze to the baby. He stared hard, scouring his mind for a name that would suit him._

_He rested a hand on the bundle, bending to investigate the color of the baby's eyes. They were a deep, warm brown. As Imraddon stared, the baby reached a hand out to smack him in the face. Startled, the boy withdrew with wide eyes. "He does not like me," he whispered. _

_Nulam stifled a laugh, disguising it with a small cough. _

"_Babies can't control their bodies," she explained. "He 'prolly only meant to touch ya."_

_Imraddon smiled again as the baby made the same gurgling noise, this time followed by a grunt and flashing of his gums._

"_An usto thanron ellavon."_

"_He's got what?" Nulam asked, "Sorry, love, my Arcanum ain't so great."_

"_Thanron," the elf answered, grinning at the baby as he flailed his arm again. "Spirit."_

_Imraddon flinched in surprise when Nulam slapped a hand against his knee and turned to find a toothy smile._

"_He sure does!" she cried, "that's perfect, 'innit? Thanron. That'll be it. He'll be Thanron."_

Imraddon hadn't realized he was crying, dimly surprised at the wetness upon wiping his tired eyes.

vVv

When the door was opened, the air tasted different. Thanron greedily drank up the gray horizon and imagined himself in the distance. Seeing the world for the first time. Experiencing it! It was pretty much freedom, wasn't it? Three weeks of riding along an open road, full of adventure.

Thanron was grinning as he led Pig out of the barn, bag bouncing just as joyfully on his hip. He hadn't forgotten to pack his paints and brushes, of course. The elf had even braved a trip into his master's study and— er… borrowed some parchment. Perhaps he would find something worth painting along the way to Minrathous.

"Hey, Thanron!" Padhil called with a confused smile. He stuck his axe into the stump and pointed to Pig. "Where're you off to with—"

"It's been great, ya old fart!"

Thanron gave him a happy wave and walked around the side of the mansion.

vVv

Emma scowled as her carriage was wheeled into view, folding her arms against her chest. Upon glancing at the elf, she caught him in a smirk of satisfaction. Emma was about to say something very impolite when Tarma blocked her view, watery eyes smiling as she held up a thick, wool traveling robe.

"To help keep you warm," she sniffed, and Emma immediately unfolded her arms to accept it.

"It's a handsome robe," Emma smiled warmly, fingers pinching the fabric. Then her face went sour as she glanced at Fenris. "Shame it can't be put to better use, what with me being stuffed into the carriage."

Fenris rolled his eyes before walking off to speak with the guardsmen.

Tarma caught the tinge of bitterness in Emma's voice and smiled knowingly.

"We all want you safe," she said gently. "You've done so much for this house."

After Tarma helped her inside the robe, Emma pulled the older elf into a tight hug.

"I'll miss you," Emma murmured with sincerity, eyes and nose starting to burn. If Demetri's plan was a success, she would likely never see Tarma again. And that realization made Emma quite sad.

They shared a tearful goodbye, and it seemed to prompt a chain reaction. Elf after elf waited their turn to hug Emma and kiss her cheeks, wishing her a safe journey and happiness in Minrathous. By the end of the goodbyes, she had been reduced to a blubbering mess.

When Thanron stepped before Emma and yanked her into a big hug, she frowned through her tears.

"Thanron...you're—"

"Shh!"

The elf whispered, "Not done having fun with Imraddon yet."

"Oh," Emma whimpered, pushing out of his arms, "you're too much!" Now that she was forced to part with so many friends, Emma felt empathy for Imraddon. To truly believe he was parting with his best friend must have been awful. "You tell him," she scolded.

vVv

Thanron cocked his head to side, fixing a side-long glance on the elf. He was strapping up his saddle, looking especially miserable among the saddened lot. Poor sod.

Smirking at the human girl, whose warning glare was smothered in tears, Thanron spun his heels against the gravel and started toward Imraddon.

vVv

"Hey."

Imraddon glanced up from tightening buckles, feeling a lump form in his throat as he met eyes with Thanron.

"Hey."

"I've been a jerk," Thanron sighed, "I haven't apologized for hurting you. If we're not gonna see eachother again, I don't wanna leave things that way." He smiled at Imraddon, whose stiff hands remained closed around the saddle's straps. "You're my best friend, Imraddon. I'm sorry."

Imraddon turned his eyes back to the buckles in hopes of hiding the tears that had formed along their rims. He had never heard Thanron acknowledge their friendship in such a warm way… or apologize for being a jerk. "Thanron…I—"

His horse suddenly whined and Imraddon flinched, releasing the straps. He stepped away with wide eyes, flushing as Thanron chuckled beside him.

"You've gone and made it too tight," he explained with an easy smile, stepping forward to loosen the straps. "How're you—" Thanron grunted as he adjusted them, "gonna be able to ride for— three weeks?"

Staring up at the black beast, Imraddon nearly whimpered.

"I do not know," he answered feebly. "I can barely steer a horse. This one is huge and he does not like me."

"He sure doesn't," Thanron agreed, turning to lean his back against the horse as if it were a tree, and not a giant monster. "Tenses up every time y'near him."

Imraddon lifted a hand to massage at his now aching temple. Damned horses. Why could they not ride elks? Or donkeys? Or dragons? Quite literally, any other creature would have been preferable to the black beast before him.

"You know, I better…" Thanron paused, reaching a hand to swipe along the horse's neck. "I better go ahead and tag along, then," he glanced at Imraddon with a sly smile. "Make sure you don't ride off a cliff or somethin'."

vVv

Imraddon stared at him. And blinked. And stared some more after that. Then, he finally spoke one, cautious word.

"What?"

Thanron grinned.

"Huh—how long...has this been—" Imraddon moved his lips as he searched for a word to form between them, "...decided?"

"Since last night, at dinner, when Emma told me to come'n be your assistant in the kitchens."

Imraddon's eyes widened in fury.

"_Vishante_—" He lurched forward, grabbing fistfulls of Thanron's robes, and cursed him up and down in Arcanum, not stopping to take a breath. The younger elf was rather grateful to not understand it.

vVv

If Emma wasn't busy feeling sad, she would have taken pleasure in Imraddon giving the little deviant an earful.

A guard called out "All, mount!" as Fenris stepped to rejoin her.

The elf pulled the door open and waited for her to step inside. Emma grumbled obscenities under her breath as she crawled into its dark corners. She adjusted herself on the farther end, expecting him to climb in after her. Instead, he shut the door and gave it a dull _thump_, which prompted it to be moved forward. Emma frowned at the opposite seat, deciding not to protest. Even if he got to ride and she didn't, it was better that they remained separated as much as possible.

Shifting along the cushioned seat, Emma pushed the window's curtain aside and stuck her head out. When several elves shot their arms to the sky in a final goodbye, Emma shoved her arm through the window and waved back. Tears spilled over her cheeks as her friends grew smaller and smaller.

Something soft met with her fingertips and she blinked up in surprise to find Fenris riding beside the carriage. He was staring ahead at the road before them. In her hand, there was a handkerchief. Scowling, she pulled her arm back through the window and tossed the cloth aside before yanking the curtain shut.

Emma knew she should be happy and grateful to leave the mansion behind. But watching her friends remain smothered the feeling in bitterness.

She scooted to the opposite end of the carriage and gazed out the Fenris-free window, watching the ocean spray against jagged rocks below.

vVv

Thanron leaned back, releasing the reins and resting his elbows against the horse's rump.

"Stop showing off," Imraddon grumbled beside him, knuckles white around his grip. His legs were cramping as they clamped against the horse's sides. Wincing at the ache in his fingers, the elf stiffly attempted an adjustment. The horse snorted at the movement, and Imraddon's muscles clenched even more. Maker, three weeks of this? An hour in, and he was as stiff as a board.

"Relax," Thanron chuckled, eyes closed as if he could take a nap in his position. "Just let the horse walk, it's a straight path. It'll follow the group. All you hafta do is sit." He opened one eye, glancing at Imraddon's fists as they clenched the reins. "Go on," he urged. "Relax."

Imraddon risked a small loosening of his fingers, and was met with a piercing ache as his blood passed through them. There was no change in the horse's gait. Slightly encouraged, Imraddon let his hands fall to his thighs.

He sighed and rolled his shoulders, untightening the muscles. After the initial pain, his body relaxed. With still no changes from the beast beneath him.

"There ya go," Thanron winked, before pointing his face back to the sky and closing his eyes. "Nice day," he sighed.

Imraddon nodded in agreement, gazing out at the horizon.

In like of loosening his muscles atop the horse, Imraddon had initially felt pain upon Thanron's news. How could the insufferable git let him toss and turn all night in dread of their parting? Then, came the flooding relief that bursted within him. Imraddon was as happy as he had been that night, drinking mead and talking with Thanron. To think they wouldn't have to separate, after all. That they could experience a three week journey across the country together instead of say goodbye forever. That the boy was his kitchenhand!

What a overwhelmingly...happy shift in events.

Imraddon could even say he didn't mind Thanron's lack of romantic interest in him anymore. Well, not terribly, anyway. After he had experienced the misery of being nothing at all, Imraddon decided he would much rather be the boy's friend. That was what he had decided before the elf had thrown things off kilter with his surprise kiss. But that was an accident. Which was fine.

It was fine this way. So long as Thanron was happy, and he could be near enough to see it.

vVv

It was the first time he rode without his master. The elf was away from the bloody mansion, with its spires mere specks in the distance. Three weeks was the longest that he and Danarius had ever spent apart. It was freeing, undoubtedly. To feel the salty breeze on his face, to hear the shifting of dirt beneath horse hoofs, to see the road stretch where his eyes could no longer follow. Freedom.

And yet, Fenris had felt leagues more liberated when he and the human had been cooped up in the mansion. Those days in the library, reading of the adventures they were now to take. Why had it been so much more? Steam rising from a liquid-chocolate surface. Stolen glances at those blushing cheeks. It was so much more than any open road.

Fenris frowned, refocusing his gaze as he pushed away the melancholy thoughts. He was just going to have to grow used to the way things were.

They rode on for hours, until the sun began to dip beneath the hills.

vVv

"Maker, but my arse aches."

Larus chuckled, rubbing at the small of his back. Beside him, the elf shifted on her feet, staring about as if in search of an occupation.

Danarius yawned, "Lord Nam's party will be arriving later."

Larus nodded in understanding, "Your brother is playing with him."

"Forcing a holy man like Lord Nam into a brothel is my brother's exact portrait of fun."

A chair called to Danarius in its corner by the hearth and he immediately shuffled to sink into its softness.

"Ah," the magister blissfully sighed to himself as he stretched his legs out, "that's better."

Danarius watched his friend check their small party in, counting the silver pieces Larus pulled from his coinpurse. Danarius would pay him back in the morning, he was too lazy to lift a finger at the moment.

Larus leaned toward the elf girl and spoke something into her ear as he held a key between them. The elf plucked it from his fingers with a blush and crossed the room to start up a staircase that led to their chambers. Larus gazed at her as she climbed, a soft smile about his lips. He glanced at Danarius and flushed upon realizing that he had been watching the exchange.

When Larus settled into the chair beside him with a small groan, Danarius finally decided to bid the elephant in the room a hearty welcome.

"So, when am I to be expecting an invitation to _your _wedding?"

Larus snorted before turning his gaze to the fire.

"We both know that won't be happening," he answered with a bitter distance in his eyes. "We'd be burned alive for holding hands in Minrathous."

Danarius stretched his fingers and wished they were gripping a glass of wine. The bar was… much too far away, however. Nearly twenty-five steps too far.

"How did you get to know her?" asked Danarius.

A light, apart from those of the flames, seemed to catch in his eyes. The mage leaned back in his chair, smothering a smile that threaten to spread his lips. Then, his face slowly hardened as he drew upon the memory.

"After watching Demetri brutalize her before everyone…" Larus's eyes left the flames to stare at a patch of rug, "I felt sympathy. There I sat, the only healer in miles, and this… beautiful, doe eyed girl lay dying just a couple paces away.

"After dinner, and a good bout of debating over it, I searched the servant's quarters. She was not in any one of the rooms. I worried that I was already too late. Then, I found her stretched out across a bloody tabletop in the kitchens, which was crammed tight full of elves.

"I tried to help in a guise of disinterest but," Larus glanced at Danarius with a small smirk, "your wife exposed me for the concerned healer I was." He returned his gaze to the fire. "I patched her up and nursed her back to health. And fell in love before she opened her eyes. After that, I was besotted. And then, alarmed," he chuckled, "as she nearly killed herself trying to bow at my feet in apology for 'troubling me'."

Danarius stared at him for a long moment as a lazy smile slowly stretched his lips.

"I have cute elves," he finally said.

Larus laughed, "You really do."

"You know," Danarius frowned in thought, "I had a rather difficult time choosing which to bring with me."

"Mm…" Larus smiled, "oh, did you bring the small, raven haired one? I've grown rather fond of him. He is so easily ruffled."

Danarius's brow deepend.

"No, I tend to keep my distance with that one," he replied dazedly, sleep beginning to pull him from his thoughts. "I feel strange around him. He's mine and I have no clue how to behave with him."

Larus paused, watching his friend's eyes droop closed.

"Well, the others are yours. What makes him different?"

Danarius lazily shook his head before yawning,

"No, I mean he's mine. He's my son."

Larus stared.

"Oh."

vVv

_I can tell this journey is going to be fun. At first it was daunting to imagine them leaving. Now, I'm excited. Also, I've hinted at the sexual relationship between Imraddon and Thanron in their horse riding dialogue. It's a small preview. That's going to be funny. And amazing._

_What are your thoughts?_

_LostSpace: You're exactly right. The spell makes previous loves seem unappealing so that the recipient can focus on the blood love (i.e. Danarius). She'll learn to love Fenris as a rival from now on. Like in the game, if you choose that route. I did. _

_LizHolmes: I'm glad you have feels for me to tear apart! I'm glad you care about the ongoings of my story :) Thanks!_

_Sp1c3M0nst3r: Thanron doesn't have an interest in yaoi, either. He's a rather die-hard lady lover. "But every time he glances at that blonde oaf… he feels somethin' weird stirrin' about in his gut…" We'll see if they end up together!_

_Geeky Momma: Emma has paused her efforts in annoying Fenris to fix things for Thanron and Imraddon. Yay! This will be an interesting 3 weeks for them._

_Secret Companion: Oh, he's leaving, alright. But Thanron's goin' too! Woohoo! This is going to be a long story. We're at 627 pages (double spaced, mind you) and I think we're somewhere in the middle of my plot. That said, I don't know if I'll have a full blown sequel in me when I'm finally done. I don't know if you guys will wanna read it, anyway! We'll all be pretty tuckered out by then. But I'll make sure to finish with a satisfying ending. It won't just end with Emma going "Oh, Fenris" with an audience laughing in the background like some cheesy sitcom haha It will at least have a few chapters after that. I'm glad you're enjoying my story enough to be concerned for more! Don't worry, plenty is in store._

_WamanthaSalker: Thank you, thank you! Your heartstrings have become my favorite instrument in a totally non-creepy way, if that's possible. Thanks for reading :)_

_Love all of ya!_


	65. Get out

vVv

Emma roused from her daydream when she heard the call for an "all cease", grateful from the yank back into reality. Disturbingly enough, she had been thinking about Danarius. Imagining the half smile that took to his lips as he leaned an arm against his desk. It had only been yesterday morning that she buried her nose into his chest, and now he was gone. Emma knew she should be grateful to be away from him, that it was only the spell that twisted her insides.

But as the pain in her wound slowly ebbed away, Emma found it harder and harder to remember that she hated the man.

The door was abruptly opened, and she bit back a yelp of surprise. Light poured into the dark space and she squinted against it to see Fenris waiting expectantly. Emma was eager to climb out of the cramped carriage, moaning at pain in her joints as she stretched them into a stand.

The clouds had left the sky to grant them a beautiful sunset on their first eve of travel. Everyone was hurrying to set up camp before the final rays of coral sunlight disappeared below the horizon. Emma rolled up the sleeves of her dress and set to helping the others.

By the time darkness fell and stars speckled the sky, they had themselves a rather cozy campsite. Everyone new to the whole traveling business took a step back to admire their handiwork. Especially Thanron, who boasted that _his _tent was by far the handsomest of the bunch.

vVv

"I mean," Thanron rested an elbow on an arm that spanned his chest, pinching his chin in a grin, "you pitch a tent better than that, Imraddon." He shook his head, taking slow steps around the tent as he admired it from all angles.

Imraddon lifted his head with a sharp sigh.

"Say one more word about that tent and I will accidentally fall on top of it."

"Words'a jealousy," Thanron shrugged with a sly smile, "Comin' from the guy who needed Emma to build his for him."

The elf glared in warning.

"I was preoccupied with making the entire camp dinner."

Thanron held up his hands, deciding that the morning had removed all rights for him to mess with Imraddon. Until the next day, at least. He sat himself on the space of bench beside the blond elf, and bent to collect a potato from its sack.

Raising from his seat a smidge, Thanron peered into the boiling pot that was positioned above their cooking fire. It was full of something creamy lookin', like melted goat cheese.

Imraddon muttered, "Potato soup." His face was obscured as he bent over, peeling a spud with speed that would make any cook blush.

The soup already smelled godly.

"Need a hand?" Thanron leaned down to stare up at the elf's features, in search of some sign he wasn't mad, "I'm your assistance now," he said with a half smile. "Go ahead and put me to work."

Finally, Imraddon's lips lifted slightly at the corners.

Thanron's own smile widened at the sight before he grabbed another knife and set to work.

vVv

Arathea ginned as her hands swept across the fluffy blanket of their bed. It was so soft and luxurious! Even before slavers had collected the elf from her village, Arathea had never slept on anything so fine. She pushed on the mattress, sighing happily at the prospect of snuggling into its warmth. And to think of who she was permitted to share it with! She flushed, imagining the sight of Larus's sleeping face.

The man liked to take on troubles with stride, but the shadows of worries were etched into the thin lines of his face. By the time they went to sleep, the weight of the day bore itself on his shoulders. Arathea liked to swipe a finger along the lines of his face as he slept. Liked to watch his worries smooth away into pleasant dreams. When he awoke beside her, Larus was a clean slate.

Arathea was happy to be at Larus's side in the journey, and very grateful for the chance to perhaps become his in the future. To share the same home.

But she could see that Larus was uneasy with her near. He believed that she might get hurt in Minrathous, or even on the way to it. It was written all over his face. Constantly looking over his shoulder, testing the locks on doors, and staring hard at every individual they encountered, for fear that they could not be trusted.

Arathea wished she could laugh away his fears. But in all truthfulness, she was in danger every day they set out. She was not oblivious to that fact. After all, she was an elven slave in the Kingdom that hated such.

Still. She was in danger every day beside the man who made it completely worth it.

vVv

Emma gazed at the campfire's dancing embers. Night sang its chorus of grasshoppers, crackling flames, soft voices, and wooden spoons scraping along the sides of their bowls. Emma's own bowl of soup warmed her hands, and tendrils of potato goodness wafted up to her nose.

Though Emma was hungry, continuously collecting spoonfuls of soup, her mind would wander before she could bring it to her lips. Emma would stare absently into the fire as thoughts consumed her, and the spoon would ease slowly back into the bowl.

_ "Flower," Danarius set his book aside with a sigh. He turned pale eyes to her, tilting his chin in question, "when you raise your arms over your head like that…" Danarius gestured to her arms, draped lazily along the pillow, "how am I supposed to resist?"_

_His brow furrowed, and he rolled onto his side, fingers extending dangerously near her breasts. Emma stiffened before lifting her head to glance down at herself. What did she do this time? _

_Emma swore, the man could find anything enticing if he concentrated hard enough. Danarius had once scolded her for eating a peach "too attractively", and had only permitted its consummation after he cut the fruit into thin slices. _

_It was while following this trail of thought that the magister caught her by surprise._

_He lunged forward, fingers attacking her sides. Emma burst out into squeals and gasps, writhing away from his touch. Danarius mercilessly assaulted her with tickles until she was begging him to stop between gulps of air. _

_He finally pulled away, wearing the grin of a child, with disheveled hair to match. _

_Emma almost smiled around her breaths._

She scowled and forced herself to focus on the damned delicious soup until the last streak was cleaned.

Emma's tent was needlessly large; a sort of palace among the others. It contained a changing area, a sitting area, and her large bedroll that could comfortably fit four large adults in its folds. When the elves had begun its assembly, she believed it would serve a higher purpose. But then again, her mind ruefully added, it wasn't simply for Emma. The lavish quarters belonged to another.

When Emma had watched Fenris roll out his own bedroll on the opposite side of the tent, she couldn't stop the groan that pushed passed her lips. The carriage— the bloody box that Emma hated with a fiery passion— was to be her only salvation from the elf. How horribly ironic.

"_I really think you should have your own tent," Emma reasoned, feigning thought as she furrowed her brow. "Or sleep on a bedroll— outside...the tent. You know," she waved a hand and glanced around them, "you're really quite blocked off in here. I think. Obstructed."_

_Fenris had stopped unrolling his bed to stare up at Emma from his knelt position._

"_Lady Vanasidhion," he finally expelled, rising into a stand, "that is the very reason behind the twenty guardsmen stationed just outside. Then, should our attackers make it past the guards, I will kill them. I need to be at your side to best guarantee your protection."_

Before Emma could respond, Fenris had left the tent, and she has enjoyed not having seen the elf since. 

Everyone welcomed the first sleep of their travels with sprawled arms and open mouths. It was a soft, collective sighing that filled the camp. As she lay in her bed roll, the gentle sounds helped to ease Emma out of her sadness for leaving the others behind.

She focused on the reasons to be grateful, and there were many. A lot of her close friends were included in the trip to Minrathous, and she had a chance to return to Fereldon. To see Carver and Bethany! And Mama...oh, Emma should not feel sad, at all. But rather, excited.

Emma heard the soft rustling of tent flaps being opened, followed by the muffled shuffling of feet. She rose to rest on her elbows, squinting at the figure in the darkness. A sliver of moonlight seeped through the flap's opening and it caught with white hair.

Something about Fenris was strange.

He was kind of stiff, edgy. Like he was ready to pounce at the tiniest sound. His breaths were a little shallow, hinting at an earlier exertion. And when Emma stared hard enough, she thought she could see streaks of blood along his arms. Could those just be shadows?

"Fenris," she whispered, watching him flinch at the sudden sound.

Emma vaguely saw his head turn her way.

"Go to sleep," he growled, and she was glared at the roughness of his voice. "I will not hear another word from you tonight."

Indignant, Emma sighed a laugh at the command.

"I am afraid you will," she replied, sitting herself upright, "more than one, in fact."

A heavy thud as Lethandralis was cast to the grassy floor, followed by a muffled rustling of clothing.

"Really, Fenris, I must insist that you sleep elsewhere."

There was a long silence before his soft, "No, Emma."

Emma frowned at the sudden gentle tone his voice had taken, having expected the usual sharp resistance to her plea. Rather than dulling the annoyance of his presence, the tired words tickled beneath her skin and buzzed inside her head. Emma's very essence was rejecting him.

"Fenris," she bit, made harsh with the unpleasant tingling, "you make me itch. I cannot bear to be near you. Get out."

Another length of seconds trickled through the stillness. A part of Emma could dimly sense her rudeness before a much bigger part smothered the feeling in distaste. She had been feeling so at peace, finally, after a day's worth of mourning the separation from her new family. And then the elf had entered her space, tainting the moment's beauty.

vVv

He made her itch. He was a parasite that gnawed at her flesh. He was a loathsome creature, so foul she could not stand to be near him.

Fenris covered his face in his hand, willing away the mantra that had infested his mind, the echoing of sharp words that battered his skull.

"_I cannot bear to be near you."_

"Fine," Fenris growled into his palm before pulling away. "I will abandon my duty to suit your comfort in this area only. And, should anything happen to you," he bent to collect his sword, "at least you will not be itching." Then, he stepped out into the camp.

The elf was becoming a weak minded idiot. He passed each minute, bathing in the sorrow of his lost love. There was nothing to be done. It was ended. Fenris needed to collect his manhood from the ground and reattach it before this woman could drive him any deeper into fragility.

When he didn't return to his post, and instead took to pacing the tent's perimeter, guardsmen fixed him with eyes of confusion. After an hour had passed in this manner, a guard approached him. A young human man with a thin beard. Fenris raised a hand before the human could speak.

"She will not be disturbed," he spoke bluntly. Then nodded toward his right, "Watch the east. I found a few stragglers, pinned against the trees."

The guard's stare fell to the blood streaks along his arms.

"Did you…?" his sentence trailed away, still focused on the redness.

"Only one," Fenris answered, "a message to the others. They are not bandits. There was too much fear in their eyes. No anger for the loss of their friend."

"Merchants," guessed the guardsmen.

Fenris felt himself begin to yawn, and quickly turned it into a sigh to mask his weariness.

"I cannot be certain. Watch the east."

vVv

Emma was lulled into a thick sleep as brushing footfalls circled the tent.

vVv

Thanron stepped outside his tent to take a piss and noticed Fenris circling Emma's tent, eyes scanning the horizon for things amiss. This struck the elf as odd, because Fenris had been riding hard all day with the rest of them. He even went the extra mile, literally, and rode ahead to check areas that were prone to highwaymen. One time, he came back, speckled in flecks of blood.

So, why wasn't his ass in bed?

He walked to stand before Fenris as he rounded the tent's corner. Fenris was so tired, he nearly collided with the elf before noticing his presence.

"Why aren't you sleepin'?" Thanron accused.

Fenris shook his head, "I cannot. She doesn't want me in there."

"So, sleep out here," Thanron reasoned with a shrug. "Close to the fire. I was thinkin'a sleepin' under the stars weren't I so happy with my tent."

Fenris snorted a laugh without smiling, as if the noise exerted too much of his energy.

"Here, I'll give you my extra blanket," Thanron was about to turn when the elf reached a hand out.

"No, I can't be asleep unless I am beside to her. Someone could infiltrate the camp, unseen, and slip beneath her tent—"

Thanron frowned, glancing sideways with doubt, "That seems unlikely. But, in any case, ask someone else to sleep with her—hell, I'll do it, if you want—"  
Fenris pressed a palm to his brow, closing his eyes for a moment.

"No, that's—"

"Fenris," The elf lifted his head and fixed drooping eyes on Thanron, "look at you, you're exhausted. And you're more use to Emma with a good night's sleep. You'll miss your mark if you keep on like this. She'll be fine for a few hours."

The elf seemed to weigh Thanron's words for a long moment, debating whether or not to accept his advice.

"I will sleep for an hour," he finally sighed before setting himself at the tent's opening. "An hour," Fenris repeated to a guardsman, who nodded his acknowledgment.

Thanron waited for the elf to fall asleep, which didn't take more than half a minute, and leaned in to the guardsman.

"Don't wake him up," he whispered.

The guardsman nodded once, "Wasn't gonna."

Thanron returned to his tent, deciding that he would give Emma a talkin' to tomorrow morning.

vVv

Addis turned her over and gripped the sides of her waist. He watched his sweat drip in small crystals against her skin and enjoyed the sight of firelight dancing against its sheen. She threw her head back as he buried himself deep, a broken gasp on her lips. Addis gathered her hair in his fist and pulled, eliciting more sounds of pleasure. He began to feel it, warm tingles through his legs and all around his cock.

When the heat slowly curled in his stomach, he clenched in anticipation. But release did not follow. As usual. He growled in agitation, and the woman seemed to mistake it for ecstasy, breaking out in a long moan. Then, she began to convulse around him, erupting in a fit of grunts and squeals. Addis raised a brow at the back of her head, amused at the forced display. Truly, men didn't fall for that ridiculousness

"Did you come?" she panted, rolling her ass against him.

Addis paused before replying, "Yep, you're pregnant."

The woman giggled, "I hope not!"

"Heh," Addis grimaced. Well, he fucked her, so how much better was he?

"Night, miss."

"Goodnight!" she smiled, pulling her undergarments back in place.

Addis returned to the opposite room, opening the door to find Lord Nam fearfully watching two women pleasure one another. He twisted at his fingers, eyes fixated on their ministrations in disgust. Addis grinned at the sight, approaching without the other's notice. He slapped a hand to Lord Nam's back, causing him to yelp in surprise.

"Hey, whattya say we call it a night?"

The man nodded eagerly, scrambling for the door.

Addis lay in bed that night, pumping himself into his fist. He thought of her and came within minutes. The elven girl who slipped into the shadows, a smile on her lips. The one he had freed to show how much he cared.

vVv

Emma emerged from the tent, pressing fingers to her mouth as she yawned. She glanced down in the knick of time, nearly tripping over someone's leg. It was Fenris, hunched with white locks blocking his features. The elf looked positively uncomfortable, and Emma shuddered to think how a day's riding would feel after sleeping in such a manner.

She felt a bit guilty for putting him out.

And, almost as if he read her mind, Thanron marched over to drive her deeper into guilt. He argued that Fenris was just doing his duty as her personal guard, that he stayed up half the night circling her tent because he didn't think he should sleep away from her, and that she better make it up to him somehow. Thanron then made a Maker awful suggestion of what she could do, which she pretended not to hear.

Emma felt positively evil by the end of Thanron's berating.

She may not like Fenris very much, but he had done nothing to deserve her inconsideration last night. As Thanron said, it was his duty to protect Emma.

vVv

_He cried out as metal ripped open her chest, red petals emerging from the wound._

Fenris jerked awake and whipped his head around with wild eyes searching for the end of a sword. The light of morning burned his eyes and he leapt to his feet, disoriented, holding an arm against the sun. His ears strained to learn what his eyes could not.

The sounds of chatter slowly eased a sense of security into his mind, with logic filling in the blanks. Everything was fine.

Fenris's eyes adjusted to the brightness. Elves were tucking away their things, slabs of dried meat and cheeses in a free hand. Fenris turned to glare at the guardsmen for allowing him to sleep well past an hour. Though, he left words unspoken as it had been a needed rest, and everyone was safe. He pushed a hand against the flap to check on Emma, who was nibbling on a square of bread, open book in her lap.

When he let the flap fall closed, Fenris heard her voice within.

"Come in," she spoke with a gnawing authority.

Fenris took a deep breath and swallowed his anger before stepping into the tent. Emma gaed up at him from her seat, fingers tugging at the page of her book. For just a second, Fenris thought he saw shame in her eyes. But then Emma squared her shoulders and raised her chin, voice flat even as it spoke an apology.

"I should not have put you out last night," Emma began, eyes tight, "it is as much your tent as it is mine. I am sorry. Please," she seemed to consider whether or not to speak the next words, "please join me in the carriage should you want a break from riding."

Fenris would have felt some gratitude in the apology, had it been said with less hostility. But, in any case, he was allowed in the tent, and granted a potential break from riding. He nodded once, unsure of any other response, and left Emma to her breakfast.

vVv

"Aw, see?" Thanron smiled, staring up from removing the pikes. "Look at him now."

Imraddon followed his gaze to watch Fenris walking away from the tent, somber face a little less so than yesterday.

"He looks about ready to skip across the fields," Thanron dropped his eyes back to unfastening the tent. "That's my handiwork," he added with a hint of smugness.

Imraddon rolled his eyes.

"Can you accomplish anything without bragging?"

Thanron snorted, "Says the guy who can't pitch 'is own tent."

Imraddon grabbed at another pot, wiping it down. When would the elf shut up about bloody tents?

"I can pitch a tent," he snapped.

Thanron chuckled, "Maybe in your trousers—" he stopped short, ears reddening.

The elf's hands paused around the pot as he slowly cracked a smile.

"Well, in that case, I can pitch a very big tent—"

"Nope, nope," Thanron held a hand out, shaking his head, "nope."

vVv

_Leuthile: So, this review made me cry. I've read it a hundred times. If it wasn't pathetic, I'd frame it and hang it over my desk. It is quite possibly the most intense response I've been given about my writing, ever. Even before this story. And to think that I could elicit such a reaction from something that _I _wrote is just insane. It's an amazing feeling. I'm so glad you chanced upon my story and enjoyed it that much. I'm so glad you stayed up late reading it. I have to wake up for work at 7 and I'm writing this at 2:30, so I know your pain, and pleasure. It's such an honor to know that you are reading my story. I hope to keep entertaining. Thank you so much! _

_ElyssaCousland: I know, he's getting bullied by Emma. I'm glad you like the Thanron twist! I'm excited to incorporate it later. _

_WamanThaSalker: Sometimes, I know I'm going too slow. But I keep thinking of detail after detail and I can't help but write it down. I'm glad you enjoy the pace, anyways. _

_Lady Velvet C. Peterson: Yep! I look forward to expanding on it._

_ Zakuromidna: I know! Remember when she was cute and innocent? I mean, she still is, but not at all to Fenris. Thank you very much, I will :)_

_ Loyal Reader: It's always a pleasure knowing I made people feel something while reading. Sometimes, I make myself tear up when I write things. There's a scene I'll be writing towards the end that I've planned since the beginning, but I'm not looking forward to it. It's gonna be sad. _


	66. Let me protect you

vVv

He drew in a ragged breath before mounting his horse. It rattled inside his chest, and he could feel the demon within him coil its body around his lungs; squeezing, smirking. Danarius pulled at the reins with a determined growl and lead the gallop.

The magister rode faster than he should have, and he could hear the cries of protest behind him. But he needed the wind on his face, the roaring rush in his ears as he cut through air. It drowned out Na Vanum's steady cooes. Enough for him to wrench out of his grip.

It may have been foolish to leave his elven haven behind. The source of sanity that he would pull to his chest. Bone over bone, with lyrium humming away the mad thoughts. Danarius chose to leave Fenris with his dearest flower, instead.

Emma needed time apart from him, as much as it hurt. These three weeks would give her the mental rest she needed to make peace with their union. Maybe even hate him a little less. Absence makes the heart grow fonder, after all. Knowing this, he couldn't have her travelling Tevinter's infested roads without the elf. Not when he was so capable of ensuring her safety.

Still, the nights were increasingly difficult. Danarius was constantly in a fog of drowsiness, as Vanum allowed him no rest so that he might bat at his weakened state.

Rain began to fall, cold wetness on his brow, easing away the pain. He sighed at the feeling. Like a mother's gentle hand.

vVv

Another long day of travel, stuck between the carriage walls.

Emma pulled back the curtain and nervously glanced at the trotting herd. Fenris rode alongside the carriage, ever-intent gaze scanning the horizon for potential threats.

When she had asked a while earlier, Fenris had informed her that the ride would last another two hours. Now, the sky was glowing a soft orange between the thick clouds. Emma would only have to hang on a little bit longer until they called a halt to set up camp.

It was another disadvantage to travelling in a carriage.

Emma had gulped down too much water during the last rest. And now, a steady pressure in her abdomen demanded release. Damn it all, Emma wouldn't make it until the halting. She would just have to suffer the embarrassment of stopping the group so that she could pee.

Emma desperately implored the elf with her stare to call for a rest so that she may dive in the trees and relieve herself. Fenris continued to pass his eyes over the distant shadows and nothing else. Maker, she was going to have to say it.

She cleared her throat and flinched as the elf let his eyes fall to hers.

"I have to pee," sighed Emma, too far past the point to hide it behind polite phrasing. "I have to pee, so stop the carriage—"

Fenris immediately called for an all cease and Emma rested her head against the window sill with a soft groan. She was going to have to run, but the vigorous activity might...unsettle things. Hopefully not.

As soon as the carriage slowed, Emma poured out its door and hurried into the forest. She heard Fenris curse as he clambered down from his horse, commanding Emma to wait for him. She did not. Could not. This was an emergency. She broke into a run.

Delving further into the hanging greens, Emma was grateful that her urges had heightened whilst they passed a section of forest. Once she felt like the caravan was far enough behind her, Emma stopped pulled at her skirts.

Emma couldn't smother the broken sigh that pushed past her lips. The relief was too great.

She lifted her chin to gaze up at the sky. It was growing darker now.

As she was finishing up, Emma heard the soft crunching of footsteps. She rolled her eyes and adjusted her dress into place. Fenris couldn't leave her only for a second. Not even to pee on a patch of dry leaves. His paranoia would make the voyage twice as long, with the amount of scouting he required.

"I'm finished, but thanks for telling me you were going to foll—"

A hand clamped against her mouth, and Emma began to scream. It was cut short by the hard blow to her stomach. Emma wheezed shallow breaths behind the rough fingers that clenched her face. She felt herself being pulled backwards, stumbling over her own ankles.

Emma craned her neck, eyes wild to catch a glimpse of her attacker. Her head was roughly shoved down after such attempts and Emma watched her own clumsy steps trail backwards.

The fingers smelled like dirt and sweat.

What?

Her mind was still processing what was happening.

She was being kidnapped. Emma was being pulled further and further away from her group. This wasn't some silly nothing. This was serious. Her mind raced as a stubborn memory was pushed forth, as if to rub her nose in the fact that she was being kidnapped.

"_I must beg you to accept this without further resistance. There are bandits," Fenris listed while bending each of his fingers, "there are spies, there are wild beasts, there are rogue demons, there are wandering lunatics." He leaned toward her, laying a palm against the table. "We are not riding to your grandmother's house and delivering figs, my lady. We are transporting the priceless goods and bride belonging to Tevinter's most powerful and wealthy magister."_

Shit.

Shit!

Emma should have waited for the elf. She gasped beneath the firm grip around her face as something soft and salty was clamped to her eyes. A cloth to blind her. Another to act as a muzzle, though she could scarcely make a sound when she attempted it. This was textbook kidnapping procedure. What was she going to do? It still didn't feel real yet. Emma tested her hands, which had been locked in an iron grip. Just one big hand around her thin wrists and hand movement was impossible. She imagined her attacker to be an ogre. It certainly handled her as one.

The sharp bite of a blade to the base of her throat. It remained there, deep enough to make Emma whimper around the cloth. And deep enough to send a thin stream of blood down her chest.

Emma listened to the steps that scraped just beyond hers. Was there more than one pair? One would think that their senses would heighten in the face of danger, but that was not the case as Emma was lugged away like a sack of flour. All her senses melted together in a useless mess, and she couldn't focus on anything, much less on whether or not a second pair of steps joined them.

Emma began to breath more quickly through her nose as she was pulled further and further away from her group. The man said nothing, and she said nothing. There was nothing to be said. Emma was simply being taken to make his life easier. Be it for ransoming Emma, or taking pleasure in her misery.

And just like that, after minutes that felt like seconds between her muddled mind, Emma heard a sickening crunch, and the fingers over her mouth were wrenched away. She gasped at their loss, head turning in search of something she could not see beneath the cloth folds. Emma hastily pulled it off when her hands remembered the ability to do so, and she wildly shifted her stare until it fell to the scene before her.

Four men stood, eyes pointed to the heap at their feet in a daze. Unable to process the danger before it was too late. Silly thoughts crossed her mind before their awed gazes were shredded to bits.

They were just boys.

They were four Carvers.

They were young and hungry.

A flash of metal and glowing flesh made them dead. Emma could not describe it, because she didn't see it. They were standing there, staring at their fallen comrade, and then... they quite simply were not. Emma felt flecks of blood against her face, and then turned her gaze down in time to watch an open vein spew blood over the tops of her feet. The four boys had become the broken twigs that scattered the forest floor.

When she watched the torn heart fall out from under metal claws, Emma bent to retch into the grass. She inhaled the scent of blood and excrement that emanated from the bundle of youth, and choked on the smell. Emma moaned between gags, wiping her sweating brow.

"Yuh...you killed them," she whispered, rising from her bent position. Emma felt hairs rise on the back of her neck when their eyes met. "You couldn't just knock them-mm out."

The elf was smattered in a redness that was stark against his skin, that glowed in swirls like moonlight. He stared at her beneath speckled locks that dripped into bright, wide eyes. He was breathing deeply, in and out. Deliberate and forced; she could feel the adrenaline still rolling off his skin in waves. Shadows clung to his face in a way that chilled Emma with shivers she could not disguise. He was a wild creature and this was his habitat. The space between life and death, where his claws ripped through the hearts of Carvers before they fell.

He was a wolf.

"_You stupid girl,_" the words were buried beneath layers of fury, and his face contorted with the effort it required to dig them up. As the wolf pushed them past his teeth, Emma realized she was more frightened than before he came to her rescue in a wave of blood.

vVv

They waited along the forest's edge, counting the minutes that passed in a horrified silence, only broken by the occasional stammered prayer.

_Please, let him find her, unharmed._

Thanron chanted the mantra inside his head, willing the Maker to let it be so. His head pulsed with impatience and his fingers itched to be wrapped around a weapon that would cut down Emma's attackers and bring her back to them.

_Please, let him find her, unharmed. _

The elves stared and gasped at shadows that resembled a figure, followed by a shaken sigh when they realized it was nothing.

Thanron finally broke away with a snarl, taking a step toward the trees before a hand wrapped around his wrist and wrenched him back. The elf's head whirled to glare at Imraddon, who kept his grip tight as he stared with a chilling gravity.

"Do not be afraid," the blond elf murmured, "she is fine."

Thanron fought his grip, jerking his head back to watch the forest's shadows. He leaned his weight forward, feet scraping the ground as he struggled to move forward.

"Fuck," he spat, "there hasn't been a single sound."

Imraddon's voice was serious, yet there was a soft calm to it that caused Thanron to lighten his resistance.

"That is a good thing," he sighed. Thanron turned to frown at him in confusion, and many elves fixed their eyes on Imraddon as well. "Had Emma's attackers raised their swords, we would have heard their cries. There is only silence. He killed them before they could blink."

Everyone drank in the words like they were liquid hope.

"Yeah?" Thanron glared as he finally ripped his arm out of the elf's fist, "what do _you _know 'bout Fenris? I ain't seen him fight anythin', just stand behind our master. Sounds bad, but he's a pet'n everyone knows it."

Imraddon stared at him, before a sad smile pulled at one corner of his mouth.

"He is a pet, yes," he agreed softly. "But he has been taught a few tricks." The elf's gaze drifted over Thanron's head and to the thick span of trees. "I have seen it."

Thanron's eyes widened, "You've seen it?" and he took a step closer. "He fights good?"

Imraddon nodded once, distractedly.

"There is only one other who can best him."

Thanron filled in the blank without a doubt, "Danarius."

"No," he cocked his head to the side, blinking once. "It does not count when one uses puppet strings."

The younger elf furrowed his brow and narrowed confused eyes.

"Then, who?"

Imraddon sucked in his cheeks as if in deliberation to answer.

A shrill scream broke through the quiet as his lips began to part in reply. The sound belonged to Emma. When Thanron began to dart into the trees with Imraddon just behind him, the two elves were halted by a shouted string of Arcanum. Fenris.

The caravan let out a collective sigh of relief.

vVv

"Get away from me!" Emma shrieked, taking a step back with arms outstretched and ready to strike. But then, what was the point in that after seeing what he was capable of?

The elf angrily met her strides, fingers splayed and stretching to grip her arm. He stepped over mangled corpses like they were nothing but rocks. Emma felt her stomach churn.

"You complete—let me look at you, damn it!"

Those little spars in the ballroom… they had been like an adult indulging a child. He could snap her in half, just like these—

Emma's heel caught with a dismembered arm and she crashed to the forest floor. A warm softness broke her fall, and she let out a strangled cry upon realizing what cushioned her. Emma met the dead eyes of a young boy with long, flaxen locks that surrounded his head in gentle waves. The angle of his head stretched his cheek in a way that looked to be a smile.

Did he like to laugh?

Emma grunted as she was yanked from the ground and forced upright. She shoved at the intruding hands that pushed back the hair that clung to her neck. When cold fingers touched her throat, Emma flashed a hand out to slap their owner across the cheek.

When Fenris stilled his movements to stare at her with dull eyes, Emma was instantly filled with regret. Not because she felt sorry for hurting the elf, but because she feared how he might retaliate.

He continued to stare, fingers still at the base of her throat.

vVv

Fenris felt her swallow in fear. So now, above disgust and hatred, the girl feared him.

He had never wanted Emma to see him like that. Like a monster from the books she had read to him. Wolfmen. Bloodthirsty, cruel. On the day that Danarius had left, Fenris realized that the time was bound to come.

What could Emma see as her round eyes stared up at him?

Could she see his regret? His sadness? Would she detect the fact that he had been watching those boys for miles, occasionally dipping into the woods to check up on them? Try and move the caravan away from the lot, so that he wouldn't have to harm them? Because they were "just boys". And they talked about girls and home villages and spice cake and aching feet like "just boys" were wont to do. And that Fenris prayed to the Maker that they would not interfere with their travels. Could she feel the pain that buzzed inside his skin? See that he hated it every bit as much as she did.

Would Emma see that he enjoyed killing each of them?

That he ached with the lusty pleasure of pulling out their hearts?

Fenris stared down at the girl with hooded eyes, her shallow breaths spilling into his mouth like the ghost of a kiss.

vVv

Finally, the elf spoke in a soft voice that shook with emotion.

"The last thing I want to do is scare you." Fenris leaned away, hands carefully parting with her skin. His eyes were sad. "I am sorry you had to—see...but—" the elf slightly turned his head to cast his gaze down to the flaxen boy, "he held a knife to your throat. I had to protect you and ensure that they would not return when we made camp." He brought his stare back to hers.

A shred of moonlight cast down to catch in emerald eyes as they begged hers. Trembling lips carried the weight of his plea.

"Please," he held her gaze from beneath dark brows that pulled together in sadness, "do not leave my side. Let me protect you."

She breathed the words in through parted lips. They burned her throat. They ached in her lungs.

"Hate me if you wish," Fenris finished quietly, "but allow me to protect you."

Emma stared up at him. A dry mouth yearned for the aid of a cutting retort, but none came. Instead, she licked her lips and let out air through her nose. Emma nodded once, eyes leaving his to the boy's once more.

vVv

The elf entered their tent, and the familiar clinking of metal followed as removed his armor. Emma lay on her side, facing away and watching the dim shapes of sleepy elves shuffling beyond the tent. She listened carefully to Fenris. His movements were quite muffled, even for him. Back in the mansion, the elf had never made such great attempts to be quiet, not even in Danarius's presence.

That evening, when all the elves began the many tasks of making camp, Fenris selected jobs that were as far away from Emma as possible. She knew he was giving her space in all areas that he could, in hopes that the situations in which he needed to be at Emma's side were less distressing for her. These efforts made Emma feel like a child.

Even now, she could sense the guilt and shame that radiated off of him. Fenris felt like an intruder in his own space. This made her feel like even more of a child.

Emma rolled over with a sharp sigh and the elf's dark figure froze in place, no doubt believing that he disturbed her in some way. And really, he had, with his hard attempts _not _to. If that made any sense.

"Fenris," she hissed, leaning up from her bedroll, "I don't believe I left any eggshells lying about so you can stop your tiptoeing. This is your tent, too." Emma allowed herself a long blink, and a deep breath. Here goes, "You're right, I do need you at my side. It was silly to demand otherwise."

Emma lay back against the sheets and blinked up at the canopy ceiling before closing her eyes.

The elf's quiet answer sounded in the darkness.

"It was absurd," he agreed with a sigh, "to command a guard not to guard. I'm glad you came to your senses. I shall suffer less headaches now."

Emma rolled over and glared at the tent wall.

"Yes, that's what I said."

Several minutes passed. Emma began to feel the numbing tingle of sleep in her limbs.

When she was nearly buried in the warmth, Emma thought she heard the elf's voice once more.

"I'm sorry, Emma."

Sleep clouded the loathing that surrounded the elf. Perhaps, she was asleep already. She answered softly, before drifting to sleep.

"Me, too."

vVv

LostSpace: At the end of the story. I'll say no more!

PlasterRose: I know what you mean. I cringe sometimes as I write it. I'm like, "Really, Emma? That's what you want to say? It's really insensitive, given the situa—okay, okay...I'll write it. But, just fyi, you're a bitch." And, yeah! I was excited to reveal that twist, but I couldn't figure out how I wanted to do it.

Lady Velvet C. Peterson: I would like! Indeed, I had quite a fun time with that.

Zakuromidna: I take your love with gratitude and some in return!


	67. Incoming

vVv

Though she admitted to herself that it was a bit selfish, Emma had hoped that her slight reconciliation with the elf would allow her to take saddle, even if just for a mile or two. But when she approached an unoccupied steed with a sheepish smile, Fenris furrowed his brow. Then a brow raised when she lifted a hand to swipe along the horse's neck.

"Do you mean to groom my horse?" the elf asked with a tilt of his head. Emma scowled, dropping her hands away. "There is no need, Thanron is making his rounds."

Emma glared.

"For an hour," she demanded.

Fenris released a breath of elation to the subject. He thought she was just being stubborn, without understanding how desperately Emma desired a ride. The elf must have experienced it; how much a good ride could bring to a troubled mind. Cool wind acts like a wet cloth against the brow, wiping away bad thoughts as the loudness of hooves and cutting through wind drowns out new ones. Emma needed to lose herself to the ride for just a little.

She had witnessed something horrifying, and the images of broken limbs and open chests constantly battered at her skull. Open veins shooting geysers of blood as screams left parted lips in a gurgle. The boy's flaxen hair streaked with his blood, and the blood of his comrades. Fenris's excited eyes as he watched the torn heart, still pumping blood through its openings, in his hand. They had both watched it plop to a boy's stomach with a wet slap as he took his last breath.

Emma had been assaulted with the memory all through the night, and had woken the elf several times. She would cried out, opening her eyes just in time to see the elf reaching for his sword. And for just a moment, Emma would think it was meant to silence her.

Fenris did not respond. He was peering at the horizon with a concentrated frown. Finally, he turned to her to pose an argument.

"You were attacked only last night. Do you not see the dangers in being out in the open? Someone could easily strike you with an arrow or a spell."

Emma shook her head with an impatient sigh, "Who would endeavour to kill me on sight? I pose as no threat. If anything, they will try to take me as those…" Emma blinked away the memory of their horror struck faces, "and demand a ransom. You can easily prevent them from doing that, can't you?"

Fenris stared for a long moment with guarded consideration, before nodding once.

"One hour," he allotted. _Finally_.

Emma almost jumped up and down in victory, but shoved the urges to her tingling feet. She immediately reached for the horse and Fenris halted her with a raised hand.

"I have one condition."

A sense of impending disappointment threatened to shove away Emma's excitement and she pressed her teeth against her bottom lip.

The elf's eyes flashed with something familiar, but she couldn't quite put her finger on what it was. He watched her mouth for a moment, before clearing his throat, and raising eyes back up to hers.

"My condition is that you ride with me."

Now the disappointment washed over her in full.

"Fenris," she pleaded, "I need to ride myself—"

"You can steer the horse—"

"_By _myself—"

The elf snorted, "Out of the question. Take it or leave it." Eyes not leaving her, he stuck two fingers in his mouth and made a sharp whistle that caused Emma to flinch and scowl. "We mount now," he said, placing a hand to the horse, "what is your decision?"

After glowering at him for a sufficient amount of time, Emma placed her foot in the stirrup and shoved herself above, swinging her leg up. Her knee only reached the top of its back.

It was a massive beast, much bigger than any she was used to. Emma climbed out of the stirrup and backed up several paces. She stared hard at her goal before running towards it, heaving herself against the beast. Emma grunted with effort as she tried to pull her body over the horse, but she couldn't reach the other side of its back to gain a hold. The horse shuffled on its hooves with a shake of its mane, and Emma slid off, abandoning the progress she had made. She flushed as she heard Thanron's deep laugh, approaching.

"Need a stool, love?"

She turned just in time to catch Fenris hiding a smile behind his fist. Alternately, Thanron's grin was stretched for the heavens to see. She glared at the pair of them.

"How do _you _get on a horse this size?" she challenged Thanron in a grumble. "I am half a head taller than you."

Thanron rolled his eyes with an easy smile as he stepped to her side. He set down the tin bucket of grooming tools he had been holding and placed a relaxed hand along the horse's back.

"First, you gotta let the horse know you're wantin' to ride it. Like this," Thanron stood parallel to the horse and gave its rump a soft patting before leaning in and saying, "Hey, beasty. I'm fixin' to climb on you, so don't you move, and I'll give you some oats."

The horse snorted at that, seemingly accepting the deal.

Thanron gripped the saddle in both hands and placed his foot in the stirrup. Turning to Emma, he said, "Then, you gotta give it a few good hops, is all." With that, the elf bounced on his heel, one, two, three times and hoisted himself up on the fourth bounce. He grinned down at her, chin lifted in a gloat.

"Yes, yes," Emma dismissed with a small smile, "you're amazing."

"I know it," the elf grunted as he swung himself off. He then reached into his pocket and pulled out a handful of oats, which the horse inhaled in one snort against his palm. Rolling his head on his shoulders, Thanron smirked, "Takes practice, though, to be this good." He dodged a swat from Emma with a laugh and left, bucket of tools in arms.

Emma felt a curl of embarrassment as everyone packed away the rest of their things and began mounting their horses. She bounced on her heel before heaving herself up, again and again, but to no avail. Soon, everyone would be watching from their horses and carts while waiting for her to mount. Emma's bouncing became more frantic, cheeks heating as she cursed under her breath.

Finally, a pair of hands gripped her waist and hoisted her up, and Emma eagerly gripped at the saddle, pulling the rest of the way. She grabbed at the reins and waited as Fenris swiftly mounted himself into the space behind her. An arm wound itself over her stomach before Fenris gave the order for everyone to move out.

Emma was no stranger to horses. In Ferelden, her family owned two fine horses; a mare and a stallion. Emma would take the mare out for a gallop every so often, within their village limits. But it had been a long time since she last rode, and upon much gentler a beast.

Fenris was silent behind her, which somehow made Emma feel inhibited. Like he was vastly observing her skill as a rider. And she was reminded again of the ballroom, feeling the shame coat the edges of her ears. Emma gave the horse a timid cluck.

She gasped when the horse clomped forward, great muscles moving beneath her legs.

The animal seemed to know its superiority to the others, and Emma had to grip the reins tightly while it trotted to the group's head. Elves grinned as the trio passed, laughing at the sight of Fenris as a passenger.

Emma gazed at the road ahead, which seemed to stretch for miles and miles, without end. The sky was clear and the sun kissed her skin in the coldness of winter. She felt a small breeze tickle her face and coax her to ride with it. Emma dropped eyes to her tight grip on the reins.

How could she possibly make it run? How could so large an animal do anything outside its realm of control?

Still, Emma hesitantly loosened the reins and tightened her muscles in preparation for a gallop. The horse sensed her rigidness against him, and the relinquishment of the reins, as he sped his gait a bit. Clever beast. Fenris must have felt her muscles tighten beneath his arm, as well, because he began to sharply ask,

"What are you—"

Emma tightened her legs around the beast and they were off.

The world became a bouncing blur. Patches of snow and grass whizzed by and Emma clenched her teeth to keep them from knocking together. Startled guardsmen hurried their horses to join them, but the great beast quickly outran them all. It breathed in a practiced way, pushing out air like a great contraption. Emma closed her eyes and felt the wind on her face and surrendered her mind to its cleansing fingertips.

Without need for an explanation, the horse sped on. Emma opened her eyes and gripped the reins and urged it to push forth. The beast moves so fast, the winds pushed Emma back into the elf's chest, who had fallen into a silence as soon as they had taken off. All the better, she decided, squeezing her legs tighter around the animal.

The horizon opened its arms to them in blue and white swirls. Emma chased it with small gasps as hooves met the ground. Tears formed in her eyes as she beheld and felt its beauty wash over her in a gentle caress. Beyond that horizon was Carver, and Bethany, and her Mother. She would be reunited with them. Beyond that horizon was freedom. Beyond that horizon was Danarius. Emma bit her lip, and furrowed her brow, calling for the horse to press on. How frustrating and confusing it was! To be excited to see the man that Emma would escape.

Damn him for doing this to her. Emma let out a short sob and rose in her stirrups, leaning against the wind to feel their speed. Damn Danarius for making her love him. To dip something so happy in sadness. Even if she returns to Ferelden, Emma knew a piece of her would remain with him. So long as this spell coated her mind in their blood, Emma would miss him. Damn him.

They continued to ride ahead of the caravan, towards the horizon that carried Emma's freedom and enslavement. She continued to cry, with the wind drying her cheeks as soon as a tear marked it.

When the piercing ache in Emma's chest ebbed into a soft throb, hands reached to take the reins from her. Emma stared at the road ahead as Fenris signaled for the horse to slow, pulling at the reins. They slowed to a walk before the elf commanded the beast to stop.

"An hour has passed," Fenris spoke softly. It sounded much too quiet after the constant roaring in her ears.

Emma nodded.

"Thank you."

vVv

Fenris said nothing on their way back.

When the horse had taken off beneath her timid instruction, the elf had intended to stop it and chide her until his lips were sore.

But there had been a quiet desperation to her white knuckles, clenched tight around the reins. Fenris could feel the human's stomach heave around sobs as he held her in place. Her head was pointed straight ahead, to the horizon, with short gusts of wind shoving her back into his chest. The elf relished these moments, risking an inch into her touch. Not to much to notice, a slight lean forward. He had to stop himself from closing his eyes around her warmth. They were alone in the open, thanks to Emma, so he forced himself to keep focused on every trembling shrub.

After an estimated hour had passed, Fenris turned the horse around to rejoin the group. He thought about asking her what the matter was, but stopped when he remembered that everything was the matter and that he was the last person she would wish to talk with about it.

The elves passed confused frowns over them as they stepped back in line, with guards glaring at Fenris for allowing such recklessness to take place. The caravan halted long enough for Emma to tuck away inside her carriage and then the day's travels were resumed.

They continued to ride for an hour after the sun set, hooves echoing in the darkness. It was growing cold without a fire, but Fenris still felt the warmth where Emma had leaned against him.

vVv

Thanron circled Imraddon, watching his grim frown shift into one of annoyance.

"Why?" Imraddon finally asked in a sigh.

The elf continued to guide his horse into a circle around Imraddon's as they prattled forth, which seemed to mirror its rider's impatience. It was quite an advanced maneuver, Thanron had pointed out when it began.

He abruptly groaned, "I'm bored."

Imraddon rolled his eyes.

"I knew you would not last more than three days on the road," he moved the horse out of Thanron's way, forcing him to ride alongside.

"I like evenin's, when we camp, well enough." Thanron scratched the back of his head, staring ahead, "But riding for twelve hours at a time gets pretty old."

"Well, what do you want me to do about—"

"I spy," Thanron drawled with a concentrated frown, "with my little eye, something…" he squinted about, "white."

White? Imraddon stared around. Thanron _would _choose to play this game in the darkness of night, the git.

Imraddon sighed, before guessing, "Snow."

"Nope," the elf grinned.

"The horses—"

"Nope."

"Fenris's hair."

Thanron blinked before blurting, "Nope," and glanced about.

"That was it," Imraddon said flatly.

The elf's eyes locked on something in the far distance and he shook his head, "No, that wasn't it. Keep guessing." Imraddon tried to follow his gaze before suspecting that the elf might have been trying to misguide him and searched among the caravan—

"_Incoming!_"

A blast of fire exploded all around them.

Imraddon felt the heat before he saw it in orange licks all around. A sudden warmth, foreign in the surrounding cold, and the elf blinked in confusion as he stared about for the source. His eyes met with Thanron's, wide open in equal bewilderment. Seeing flames rise too close to the younger elf brought reality crashing down on all sides.

"Move!" Imraddon shouted to him, but both Thanron and his horse were too startled to move. The elf leaned to slap Thanron's horse on its hindquarters, and it leapt away from the flames, bucking until Thanron regained control. Imraddon gazed about to see if anyone had been hurt.

vVv

Fenris scrambled off his saddle, foot catching in the stirrup, and crashed to the ground. He rose and sprinted to the carriage, dodging patches of flame and passing injured elves that moaned for aid. Arms stretched, he slammed into the carriage and wrenched its door open with shaking fingers. He watched Emma exiting the opposite door, and crawled into the carriage to follow her. She was running to an elf that had been bucked from her horse in the chaos.

"Raina, look out!" Emma screamed as another ball of fire shot towards them. She raced to shove the girl out of the line of fire, placing herself right in its path. Fenris frantically clenched the fabric of her dress and yanked it to him. He hurled them to the ground and covered her body with his as the blast met the carriage in a earsplitting blast.

Emma shoved at his body and fought to escape his hold. She stilled for a moment when Raina's screams ripped through the crackling flames. After the initial shock had passed, Emma's shoves became more desperate. Fenris rose to his feet, and pulled Emma by the arm to rise with him. When she tried to run toward the source of Raina's screams, Fenris gripped her arm until she cried out.

"_Stay with me_," he growled.

Emma stared at him with horror struck eyes before something over his shoulder caught her gaze. She screamed, slapping a hand to her mouth.

Fenris turned, shoving Emma behind him, as Raina emerged from the flame. Flesh dripped from her bone like candle wax and her eyes seemed to melt inside her skull. Her lips were charred to nothing, but rattling screams still pushed past open teeth.

"_Oh, maker!_" Emma cried into his back.

Fenris gripped her by the waist and drew his sword. He stared around with wide eyes and ran ahead.

As he passed the still wandering Raina, he plunged his sword through her heart to end her misery, with Emma screaming beside him.

vVv

Thanron tripped over his heels as he ran toward the source of the blasts. His mind was screaming questions that didn't matter. _Why did this happen? How many are hurt? Am I hurt? _He hurled his body away from another blast, bringing the body of a nearby elf down with him. When he saw that he was alright, Thanron jumped up and ran forth.

He heard Imraddon call his name somewhere behind him. Thanron didn't stop. Another blast, another near miss. More running to the front. He watched as a nearby carriage swallowed a guard in splintered wood. Thanron stopped for a moment to try and drag the human out from beneath the wreckage, but continued forward when he saw the man's dead eyes staring up at the sky. He shoved past bucking horses and wandering elves with dazed stares. Then, Thanron was at the front,

Then, he could see the fucker.

The mage was bent over, hands on his knees. He looked to be alone. He wore a thin robe that flapped in the wind, revealed his naked flesh underneath. It was white. Thanron had earlier mistaken it for an abandoned flag, poked into the ground, when playing the game with Imraddon.

The mage seemed too thin and frail to be casting the same devastating blasts that rained all around them. There was something feral in the wideness of his eyes as they met with Thanron's. This man was mad.

With a wicked smile, the mage grabbed his fallen staff and raised it over his head, screaming words Thanron somehow understood.

"_Black flesh, bring me his fiery death!"_

Thanron froze as a great orange ball of light shot from his staff and propelled towards him.

vVv

"_NO!"_

Imraddon cried out, reaching splayed fingers toward the elf that stood frozen, much too far away. He wouldn't make it. Maker, please, maker.

"THANRON!"

Thanron turned his head back upon hearing his name. Light descended all around him. Their eyes met. And then Imraddon couldn't see him through the flames.

"_THANRON!"_

vVv

_The theme for the Attack scene is..._

_Eros - Ludovico Einaudi_

_ElyssaCousland: So do I! And Emma will come around, don't worry. She has a big heart, but right now it's been hardwired to hate Fenris. I'm so proud that I get you fired up about my story! Muaha._

_NightlyRowenTree: This is what's next! Didn't see that coming, did you? THANK YOU for not hating Danarius! Of course, he's awful, but he's a greatly conflicted man. You hit the nail on the head. He doesn't know what to do and he's making the wrong decisions. But he does love Emma._

_Eureka234: Ah, yes, we return to sexual tension. That is an INCREDIBLY intriguing idea your friend has posed. However, I would like a happy ending! So it's Hawke. I'm so glad you like my version of Fenris! I try to make him close to the real deal. _

_Lady Velvet C. Peterson: Oh wow, you're swamped! Yeah, I'm working 35 to 40 hours a week and taking three classes, so I totally feel your pain._

_scarliatta: Thank you so much! You flatterer. Yes, I have fun with his enslavement. When they get to Minrathous, and Na Vanum becomes more present, we'll delve more into the dark stuff. Yes, I never understood why people made Fenris a virgin, either, when he hinted that Hadriana and Danarius used him. I promise I won't abandon my story! I'll finish it._

_persobn: I know, it's cringe worthy when she's mean to Fenris. Yeah, it was frustrating to write too. Almost like I had to hit the backspace on all the progress I wrote between them. But it was necessary. Thanks for reading!_

_Zakuromidna: Yay! Let the slomance begin anew!_


	68. You are burned

vVv

_Danarius took brisk steps across the hall, adjusting his robes. Running fingers through short, black locks and clearing anxiety from his throat, the mage rounded a corner. A basket collided with his stomach, and he grunted in surprise._

"_Ugh, milord, I nearly dropped m'clean linens."_

_A small, pixie-like creature stared up at him with big, round eyes the color of night. It spoke with a thick Ferelden accent, skin glowing as though it spent its life in the fields, and not confined to a house._

_ "You best watch y'self, milord," it scolded, adjusting the basket of linen in its arms. "Don't forget the hands you bought and look before you charge on like that."_

_ It continued to stare him hard in the eyes as no elf had ever done in his presence. It was always a fascination of feet, rugs, and tiles, with them. Not this one. This one stared squarely up at Danarius, as though it was daring him to challenge it. _

_ The mage blinked in bewilderment and nearly apologized, before remembering that he was a Lord and the creature before him was a slave. How quickly it caused the slip, with its assertive chin and furrowed brow. _

_The elf was a pretty little thing, with cropped blonde locks and a mouth that seemed accustomed to pouting. _

_Danarius posed a question. It left his lips with authority, as he was thoroughly trained to do. But he could feel his eyes betray him and display genuine curiosity._

"_Why do you speak thus to your master?"_

_The elf exuberantly huffed and Danarius dropped eyes to watch the effort of its chest heave. He then realized that it was— she was— a female elf. _

_She rolled her eyes. Shoving past him, the elf muttered,_

"_Because he nearly ran me over, tha's why."_

_Danarius grabbed the elf's retreating wrist, causing the basket to fall from her hold, and she turned to glare up at him. _

"_What are you called?" _

"_Nulam," she spat her name like it didn't mean "flower" in Arcanum. "Now, I've better things to do," Nulam yanked her wrist from his grasp, "like rewash these linens you've made me drop. And you've got things to do, too. There's two pompous gits downstairs, what's been drivin' us crazy." Nulam bent to shove the fallen sheets back into the basket, grunting as she lifted it into her arms. Danarius found it strange for her to be carrying so large an object, while being so little. Nulam caught his stare again and scowled, "Stop gawking like a blighted cow and go do your business." _

_With that, Nulam turned and sped down the hall, calling over her shoulder,_

"_The sooner those fools are gone, the better." _

_The mage snorted a surprised laugh, staring at the elf's golden head as she bustled down the hall. What a strange sort of being, that elf, to openly defy her master in a city where long glances were punished without mercy._

_ Danarius found himself far too preoccupied with thoughts of the intriguing Nulam for nerves to cloud his mind. He faced the two pompous gits downstairs with a relaxed smile. They were impressed with his character and accomplishments, and agreed to fund his research on lyrium harvesting. Silently, Danarius credited his confidence to the elven slave that spread sheets upstairs, all the while._

vVv

He was too surprised to panic.

As the fire surrounded Thanron, licking his skin like an excited pup, Imraddon's terror contorted face disappeared behind the flames. He realized that he was about to die, slowly and painfully, while the fire ate him alive. Over the crackles that barked in his ears, Thanron could just make out that maniac's hysteric laughter. He stared in wonder at the flames that danced before him, heart racing, and waited for the moment when hot teeth would sink into his flesh and begin is misery.

But that moment didn't come.

Thanron frowned with bewilderment as the flames tickled his cheek. He could feel their heat, and perhaps it was a bit uncomfortable, with very slow growing intensity. But it certainly didn't make him cry out, ripping screams from his chest as it did with the others. Thanron felt, rather, as though he were standing too close to a hearth.

And all he needed to do… was take a step back.

vVv

Imraddon fell to his knees, eyes unable to leave the flame coffin that had devoured his love whole. Part of him wanted to run into the flames and embrace Thanron's burning body, if only he could move. Dread pushed him to the ground with heavy hands, and Imraddon screamed his anguish over the chaos.

"_Please, no!_"

Why did it have to be Thanron? The flames burned bright, mocking him.

And then, something seemed to move in their depths. A shadow, shifting inside the orange glow.

Imraddon's broken sobs caught in his throat as he watched Thanron step out of the flame. He grimaced, biting his lip, expecting to see his charred body, black and dripping skin.

But the fire only consumed his clothes, burning them off of his flesh.

The elf stared with lips parted in awe as tears continued to stream down his face.

vVv

Watching his feet retreat from the flames, arms stretched at his sides, Thanron observed that his toes were not burnt. His legs and stomach were darkened with smoke and ash, but no gleaming redness of a wound. No sharp pains, no searing tingles beneath his flesh. Just sweat that beaded upon his brow and down his back. He simply felt hot.

After being engulfed in fire, Thanron simply felt hot.

Another blast beside him caused the elf to awaken from his pondering confusion.

vVv

Imraddon yelled again, leaping forward when another blast collided with the ground directly beside Thanron. The explosion seemed to do nothing but remind his friend of the situation. Imraddon watched the elf bounce on the balls of his feet and sprint toward a frightened archer, who pointed a shaking arrow south.

The elf was screaming words to the guard, and pointing north with a waving arm. Imraddon stared, wide eyed, before stumbling forward into a run.

Nearing the pair, Imraddon began to make out the words over the rumbling flames and frantic cries.

"...there, white robe! See it? No,_ there_, damn it!"

The archer blanched and pointed his arrow toward the direction Thanron pointed in, but with hesitant glances that suggested he hadn't the faintest idea why. Imraddon turned to peer into the darkness and hurriedly blinked away the purple spots, caused by the bright flames. He could just make out...something white. Maker, they were still playing I Spy.

"Bow," Imraddon extended his hand to the frightened guard, not daring to tear his gaze away from the white smear, for fear he would not be able to find it before the opportunity passed. He felt the bow meet his palm and gripped it tight, bringing it to extend before him.

Imraddon heard Thanron snap, "Give me that!" before a stocked quiver was thrust against his chest.

He grabbed a couple arrows and let the quiver clatter to the ground. With practiced hands, Imraddon placed an arrow into its rest and raised the bow. He drew the arrow back and pointed it for the pink knob above the flapping white, which was hopefully the swine's head. Imraddon inhaled once before breathing out as he let the arrow fly.

vVv

And just like that, the creature who caused so much destruction and chaos was hurled to the ground, a wooden stick jutting from his eye.

Thanron stared at Imraddon as though he were the one to survive a bath in flames. A shot like that, in the darkness. It was astonishing.

He furrowed his brow, stepping toward the rigid man,

"Imraddon…"

Imraddon lowered his bow before slowly turning to the elf with wide, reddened eyes that streamed tears.

"I thought you were gone," whispered the elf.

Thanron winced at the pain in his voice, eyes following the tears that trailed his smudged cheeks. He heard a clatter and glanced down to see the bow laying against the yellow, patchy grass, raising his head in time to watch Imraddon step to him. Arms wrapped around his bare body in a vice like grip, and Thanron coughed out a few short breaths.

At first, he tried to shove the blond lout away. But when he heard muffled whimpers and felt tears, hotter that the flames, against his neck, Thanron stilled his struggling. He let his friend cry against him, not caring for just a moment, that they were both men what didn't cry or hug. Given the circumstance, it was okay. And Thanron raised a hand to grasp the back of his friend's neck, pulling him closer.

"I'm not gone," he answered softly. "We're good."

His heart was still racing from the excitement. He had been engulfed in flame a moment ago. Surely, it couldn't be aching and jumping for any other reason. Not while hugging Imraddon. Surely not. Still…Imraddon was a bit cute—in a platonic sense, 'course—to be clinging to him as he was. It made Thanron feel good, to know how much the lout cared about him…—

Thanron flinched when the young guard beside them cleared his throat.

"Piss off," he bit, glaring over Imraddon's shoulder. "We need a minute, yeah? Just nearly died, and saved all our asses, 'innit? Why don't you grab some potions and help the injured?"

The guard flushed and muttered an apology before scurrying off.

"Useless git can't even point a damn bow," Thanron grumbled. "I tell ya, he didn't know what I meant when I told 'im to shoot it." He shook his head against the elf, clicking his tongue in annoyance. "We should have him pull the carriages, and give the horses his weapons. I'm not joking."

Imraddon gave a weak laugh into his neck, still shaking like they weren't surrounded by fires.

vVv

"No…" A human guard with distant eyes pushed forward. He approached the carriage that covered all but the head of another human. The guard dropped his javelin to the ground and bent his head with a pained grimace. "Bentley," he whispered, shoulders shaking, "Fuck."

Emma watched his lonely mourn with fingers pressed to her mouth, silent tears joining his. No one stepped forward. They were still stuck in the minute before it all happened, still confused as to why they weren't riding their horses, and why fire surrounded them in crackling patches. Finally, Emma took the step. She approached the weeping guard slowly, watching his quaking back with sad eyes.

Emma stretched fingers to rest on his back—

The guard turned abruptly, fixing her with a fierce, accusatory stare.

"I don't want your pity," he spat, "Bentley is dead, because of _you_," the guard towered over her, thrusting a finger hard against her chest. "_You, _you— infant! We all heard the elf warn you again and again, but you wouldn't listen!" He swung his hand with a growl, but a tan arm flashed out to block it before it could meet Emma's cheek.

Fenris stared at the guard, quiet words as sharp as knives.

"Touch her and you will join Bentley."

The guard shoved his arm away, face contorted in pain.

"Perhaps that will be better than going to Minrathous and telling Bentley's wife and little boy that—" He shook again, bringing a hand to cover his face.

Fenris spoke with a touch more softness,

"He knew the risks of joining this caravan."

The guard's head snapped up, and he pointed to Emma again, "But surely he didn't account for _her stupidity _when he joined—"

"The mage would have seen us," Fenris hissed, "one way or the other. What does pinning the blame on her accomplish? _I let _her ride."

The guard turned his glower to Emma, before turning away and trudging off into the wreckage.

Fenris glanced about the staring elves, "Is anyone else dead?"

There was a still silence, which Fenris accepted as confirmation. His eyes swept the wreckage, before peering into the darkness of North, where their attacker lie dead. He turned back to the elves, "Put out the fires. Salvage what you can. We continue on for three miles—"

"Fenris!" voices hissed in an uneven chorus. One voice called above the rest, "You can't ask us to directly keep going after that—"

"There is a stream."

The protests hushed. They shuffled on their feet, and looked to each other's soot-smeared cheeks. With the promise of cleaning away this awful night, the elves began to salvage the wreckage, reattach a few wheels, and gather the horses.

Emma was silent, not daring to leave the elf's side for even a moment's breath. She wanted to cry. But after what the guard said, Emma didn't feel as though she had the right. It was true, of course, what the guard accused her of. She caused this entire disaster. Raina and Bentley were dead because of her childish charade.

vVv

Thanron shook with fury when he found out about Raina.

And wondered why the flames chose to eat her, but not him.

He and Imraddon, the only ones having seen his strange dance with the flames, spoke nothing of it. But the memory weighed down their thoughts like an anchor in rough seas.

vVv

Within the hour, they were back on the rode, slow moving and wincing at pains. Fire can parch a creature like nothing else.

The stream was very wide, and deep. It sparkled in the light of the moon, a sanctuary for their hot flesh.

The sound of babbling waters was a sweet melody to their ears, and quieted the echos of screams and roaring flames. Horses strained against their cargo to meet the water's edge and lowered their faces to its cool surface. Elves and humans did the same, cupping water in their hands. They relished its cold touch before bringing the water to their chapped lips.

Then, one by one, they entered the stream. Not bothering to remove so much as a boot, they stepped into its gentle folds and dipped down. Some sighed with relief, while others cried out at the fierce contrast of sensation.

Emma stood before the bank, arms hugging her quaking body. Unlike the others, she felt quite cold.

A voice rumbled behind her.

"Get in."

Emma twitched to shake her head and refuse the command, but she forced herself to still.

She had decided never to challenge the elf again, so long as they traveled Tevinter's dangerous roads. Emma understood now. Fenris was right. They weren't bringing a basket of goodies to her grandmother. And she had been a child to pretend otherwise.

Still holding her body tight, Emma stepped forward, and into the water. She gasped when the water collected around her thighs, but forced herself to continue forth until the water met her stomach. Emma stood there against the soft nudging of the stream, staring at her reflection as ripples distorted her features.

She flinched when hands gently gripped her shoulders and pushed her along the bank, away from the others. Emma didn't understand why the elf was separating them from the group so soon after the attack, but decided again that he knew when it was safe to wander, and when it was not.

She realized why Fenris had led them a ways away from the others when fingers tugged at the fabric of her dress, before ripping it open. Cold water splashed her back and she yelped in surprise. Clamping her mouth shut and closing her eyes, Emma allowed the elf to rinse her back with splashes of stream.

"You are burned," he finally explained after a final splash of water. Emma held the front of her dress as Fenris turned her body to face him. His face was grim with the lines of worry as he brought fingers to her chin.

For a moment, Emma thought the elf was going to kiss her, and she tensed with rigid anticipation. But she blinked and parted her lips when a vile was lifted to them instead.

Emma didn't realize how badly the burn hurt until she drank up the humming fluid. It sang down her throat and buzzed in her back, easing away the fire that seemed to still burn there. She sighed in relief as the pain slowly began to ebb away, and felt a tear run down her cheek. Emma lifted a hand to wipe it away, but the elf caught her fingers in his.

"Emma," he whispered gently, emerald eyes shining beneath a furrowed brow.

She tugged at her fingers as a second tear joined the first, before turning away to stare at the shimmering waters.

Fenris repeated the phrase that he yelled the day before. But this time, the words left his lips in a sad, weary sigh.

"Emma, let me look at you, damn it."

He laid a palm against her cheek and pulled her face to meet his. Fenris raised a finger to trail the cut at her throat and Emma shivered at the coldness of his skin.

"You did not kill Raina, nor Bentley," he murmured. "A madman did."

Emma wanted to turn away as the tears began to blur Fenris's face, but his hand held her gaze up to his.

"Do not punish yourself."

She whimpered a small protest that caught in her throat. Something along the lines of "lemme go". But the sound melted into a sob, and soon she was gasping breaths that trapped themselves in her chest.

Emma was pulled to his chest, where she emptied her despair.

Brimming with hate for the man or not, his arms were a place that she had grown accustomed to crying in. And the familiar warmth began to push away the chills that wracked her body as she moaned her sorrow.

vVv

Thanron grumbled, tying off the sash of his much too baggy trousers. His clothes had been burned in the fire, and he was forced to borrow Imraddon's. It made him feel that much smaller, to be swimming in fabric like a child wearing his father's robes for a jest. He glanced up from tightening the knot, and Imraddon met his gaze with an apologetic flush before handing him a bowl of stew.

The elf snatched it from Imraddon's fingers, and a bit of stew sloshed to the ground.

Imraddon sighed, dropping his gaze to the pot as he filled his own bowl with stew. He stepped back and bent to join Thanron, who had sat with his bowl and was furiously shoving spoonfuls past his lips. Thanron glared at him as he chewed each bite.

Something else of Thanron's had burned in the fire.

"You do realize," Imraddon finally pointed out, "I was not the one hurling fireballs."

Thanron rolled his eyes.

"But I'm sure you're not too angry," he spat, "that it got turned to ash." Thanron shook his head with a scowl. "I'm sure _you_ see a silver lining in all this rubbish."

His bloody tent had burned, and there were no extras to go around.

Imraddon choked on a chunk of stew upon hearing the accusation.

"Need I remind ya what happened the last time we—you and I…?" Thanron's hard eyes finished his own sentence.

Imraddon set aside his bowl, meeting the elf's fierce glare with one of his own.

"Then, why—might I ask—are you sleeping with _me_?"

Thanron leaned to shush him, hand clamping over his mouth. He removed it immediately and glanced around to see if anyone heard.

"Don't say it like that!" he finally hissed. "It sounds weird. 'Sharing a tent', it is. We're _sharing a tent_."

Imraddon flatly corrected himself.

"Why are you sharing a tent with me?"

Thanron waved an angry hand toward the others.

"Because everyone's already bloody paired off, 'innit? It'd look suspicious if I asked to switch with someone. They'd say," Thanron raised his voice to a nasally pitch, "'why don't you want to share a tent with Imraddon? What's goin' on 'tween ya?'"

Imraddon snorted a laugh.

"No one would ask that."

"Yes, they would!" Thanron snapped. "Cause we're friends. It only makes sense that we'd share a tent. If I didn't want to, they'd think we're dealin' with," he dropped to a whisper, leaning with a hand that shielded his mouth to the others. "_sexual tension_."

The blond elf flushed and poorly stifled another laugh beneath his hand.

"Well, you behave as though we _are_ dealing with," he mockingly lowered his voice as Thanron had done, "_sexual tension_." He leaned back, furrowing his brow in a laughing smile. "Just sleep with me."

"_Share a tent!" _Thanron frantically corrected him, "and _no_! You've changed my mind. It's not safe, with you."

Imraddon chuckled and shook his head.

Only Thanron could make him smile after such a horrendous night.

vVv

Fenris rose from his bedroll for the second time, crossing their tent and rubbing at the back of his neck.

The girl's screams were stifled by the pillow, with legs thrashing against the sheets. Fenris lowered himself to his knees, and pressed a hand to her shoulder. He gently nudged her awake, whispering her name. Her eyes flew open and she twisted furiously in the sheets until she was upright. Chest heaving, Emma whipped her head around until her frantic stare fell to the elf.

She released the breath she had been holding, and wiped the beading sweat along her brow.

"I'm sorry," breathed Emma.

Fenris slowly shook his head in dismissal, eyes soft upon her face.

She raised a hand and watched the violent trembling of her fingers.

"I keep seeing her come out of the flames as that living corpse."

Emma lifted her gaze to his.

"I've never seen anything more horrible. And just yesterday, those boys—"

Fenris was silent for a long moment, examining the fear in her stare.

He finally spoke, "Lay back and close your eyes," and waited patiently for her to comply. Emma fixed him with a questioning frown before lowering her body back along the cot. She closed her eyes and flinched as if an image waited for her there.

"I will tell you about Minrathous," Fenris murmured gently. He placed a hand against her arm and she tensed before relaxing with a small sigh. That was the real medicine, Fenris knew. His touch relaxed Emma, directly after it unnerved her. A strange combination. The elf disguised his touch with details of the city they would reach.

He painted it for her as she rested, shoving away the images of charred lips and bubbling flesh. Fenris replaced the gruesome horror with colors and lights. He told her that Minrathous was a mystical place, brimming with delicious smells and sights. The elf promised her that she would see magic in its finest form, and glorious architecture that would put anything else she had ever seen to shame.

Not entirely true, but necessary for a bedtime lull.

Fenris spoke of the capital until her breathing slowed.

When he withdrew his hand, small whimpers almost immediately pushed through her lips. The elf touched her again, and she gradually quieted. Lowering himself to the ground beside her bedroll, Fenris curled his fingers around her wrist and watched her face relax to his touch.

Perhaps, Emma wasn't as repulsed by him as she let on. Or believed herself.

The elf closed his eyes, though he didn't want to stop looking at her. Sleep nudged at him, and he couldn't refuse it. Not after so trying an evening. And not with her skin beneath his fingertips. Fenris felt like he could unlock his joints for the first time in days.

vVv

Thanron shivered against the cold, glaring at the glowing embers that failed to shield him from frequent gusts of wind. His teeth chattered, much as he tried to clench them together. And his muscles grew sore from the constant effort of quaking.

Footsteps sounded nearby. Thanron shut his eyes as he heard their approach and pretended to be asleep.

"Just get in the tent," Imraddon sighed. "I am quite capable of restraint."

Thanron grunted in a suggestion of doubt.

"You are not so irresistible as you think."

Imraddon pulled back the opening of his bedroll. Thanron growled in protest, rising to his elbows and reaching a hand around the fabric.

"Come," the elf ordered, "your loud shivering will keep everyone awake. This is not even the coldest it will become tonight—"

Thanron wriggled out of his bedroll, collected it in his arms, and rose to his feet. He ignored Imraddon's smirk as he passed him by and trudged to the lout's tent.

vVv

_Hi! Sorry for the shameless cliffhanger last time. I hurried to put out this long chapter because of it. It's so nice to put in some Fen/Em stuff. And I always love writing Thanroddon. Slow slowmance is slow._

_Thanks for reading and reviewing!_

_ElyssaCousland: It was hilariously cliffy, wasn't it? We were danglin' by a thread, there. Jagged rocks below, and all that. _

_Lady Velvet C Peterson: Yay! Writing! Yeah, I like to be dramatic, if you haven't noticed haha_


	69. One with the wine

vVv

Three days passed without incident. Emma responded to the others when spoken to, though her eyes flitted about. The elf insisted that she had nothing to feel guilty about, but Emma couldn't shrug off the image of Raina's burning flesh without feeling responsible. She rode quietly in the carriage, only poking her head out when Fenris addressed the group.

Since Emma's luxurious carriage had been destroyed in the fire, she was forced to cram inside a small one, which could only semi-comfortably seat two people. Emma hadn't argued a peep when Fenris had instructed her to enter its small space, only crawled inside and shut the door behind herself. When he asked her if the space was sufficient, not that he could make different arrangements if it was not, Emma simply nodded. If she had been truthful, Emma found it hard to breathe and the box didn't take well to bumps in the road. She always felt sick by the day's end.

Emma was stretching her legs as best as she could across the carriage when Fenris called for an all cease. There was a rise in chatter as the elves climbed down from their horses and out of their carts to make camp. The door to her carriage was opened and bright orange rays of a dying sunset framed the elf's dark silhouette.

Fenris held out a hand and Emma dipped her fingers into his.

Wrapping fingers around her skin, Fenris helped Emma out of the carriage.

"Your hands are cold," the elf commented quietly, "go sit by the fire."

When Emma hesitated, Fenris added that he would join her in a moment. Emma shrugged in a manner that suggested his joining her didn't matter in the least, while they both knew it mattered very much. If the elf wasn't near, Emma felt as though her skin would be ripped from her bones. She felt exposed and in constant danger. With Fenris at her side, these feelings dulled considerably. Emma had seen several times that he was quite capable of protecting her, after all.

She sat herself before the fire and stared into its flames, half expecting a charred hand to push the embers aside.

vVv

Thanron reached a hand out to Imraddon's face, about to swipe the smear of Vahs sauce from his cheek. It was a close one. When Imraddon glanced up from his food in confusion, Thanron closed his fingers into a stiff point.

"Hey, look at Emma," he sputtered, "all by herself over there."

Imraddon turned to stare over his shoulder.

Emma was sitting on a tree stump, poking at the ground with a stick. The picture of loneliness. For the past few days, Emma had been brushing off his attempts at conversation, timid laughter depicting her desire for solitude. Thanron gave the human her wish, albeit reluctantly. He didn't like to see her so out of sorts.

But watching her sad eyes fixed upon the fire like that, Thanron decided he was going to have to go against her wish. The elf set aside his plate and rose into a stand.

"We need to drink and dance," he proclaimed with a single nod. "For Emma."

Imraddon raised a brow, setting his own plate aside.

"You and me?" he asked. "As in a performance?"

"What—no!" Thanron shook his head, "Everyone, you git. We all need to shake out the jitters, literally. And wash them away for good with a pint."

Imraddon shrugged, "Sounds good to me, but I doubt that Fenris will agree. He would rather everyone be on guard, without their senses dulled."

"I'll get him on board," Thanron crossed his arms in a gesture of confidence, "don't you worry."

vVv

"No."

Thanron groaned.

"You ain't even considered it!"

"I don't need to," Fenris answered in a sigh. "Singing and dancing around a bonfire—"

"I didn't say anything about singing and bonfires," Thanron cut in with a hopeful smile. "Is that what you want? Let's have at it—"

"...Would attract enemies," Fenris stared at him, furrowing his brow. "And pints would only—"

Thanron was scowling, "Dull everyone's senses, yeah, fine." He grabbed the elf's arm and pulled him to eye level, voice dropping as he turned them to gaze at the lone human. "But," he whispered urgently, "just look at her. She's been like that since it happened."

Fenris was quiet beside him. Sensing that it was working, Thanron pressed on. Shamelessly digging into his weak spot.

"I've been tryin' to talk to her," Thanron tugged his arm, "and I can't even make her laugh. Do you know how easy it is to make Emma laugh?" When Fenris glanced at him with dull annoyance, Thanron corrected himself. "Well, maybe you don't, but us funny folks can tell you that it's easy. Not after the fire. We gotta have fun with her. Make her laugh."

The elf was silent as he watched Emma decorate the dirt with lines and swirls. He followed the movement of her stick, weighing the possible outcomes of Thanron's suggestion.

"We brought mead?" Fenris finally questioned. "And it survived the fire?"

"It was in the cart furthest away from all that mess, by the Maker's grace."

Thanron lifted a hand to tousle the elf's hair, who glowered in response.

"Come on, Fenny—

"Never call me that, _Ronny_—"

"You know you're itchin' to let loose."

Fenris shook his head, "I cannot afford—nor do I desire— to 'let loose'."

"Well, you don't gotta drink yourself sick. A pint won't hurt." Thanron tousled the elf's hair again, and this time, Fenris growled and shoved him away.

"Hm?" Thanron persisted with a grin, "Share a pint and a dance with Emma?" He did a jig beside the elf, knocking against him with his hip, "Sing us a song? We've got a lute."

The elf grumbled something under his breath and Thanron grinned, leaning to meet his eyes.

"What was that, Fen-Fen?"

Fenris sighed.

"I said, 'alright'."

Thanron grinned and ran back to Imraddon, knocking his heels together in victory.

vVv

She lathered the soap between her palms, watching the suds form.

It was nice to be able to bathe every night. Though Arathea had been used to rare bathing in the past, she now craved a soak in the tub. Travelling on horseback caked the skin in dirt and sweat, so she liked to rinse the day off in preparation of a new one. It made her feel more ready to tackle the morning's adventures.

That, and…

Well, she wouldn't feel comfortable with Larus trailing kisses along her dirt and sweat soaked skin, would she? He was of nobility, after all. It wouldn't do. Arathea ran hands up and down her arms and across her chest, scrubbing hard.

Voices sounded down the hall, stopping at the bath chamber's door.

vVv

"I need to piss," moaned Sarvan, tugging at the front of his trousers. "How is it that you don't? After drinking so much."

Lennen smiled around the edge of his glass. Into the its red depths, he replied, "Maybe— I'm a wine. I'm one—" Lennen burped into his fist, "...'scuse me— one with the wine. It doesn't need to come out."

This proclamation was met with a confused hiccup from Sarvan, who then tripped over the leg of a table and collided with the wall in an attempt to prevent himself from falling. It didn't work, and he crashed to the floor. Lennen snickered, wiping his chin where drops of wine had been spewed.

vVv

Arathea flinched as something thudded against the wall outside. Yes, she decided, rising from the bath, and reaching for her towel. It was quite time to return to the safety of Larus.

vVv

Sarvan groaned from the floor, pressing his palms against its carpeted surface.

"Look at you," Lennen laughed, pointing to his drunken friend. You've got mead all over you."

Pushing himself into a stand, Sarvan made a face of disgust as he smelled the front of his tunic. "Ugh," he stared down at the mess that had become his clothes. "An entire pint, soaked into my shirt," Sarvan sighed. "Terrible waste of coin, that is."

"I think you have had your fill, besides," Lennen smiled as he took a hypocritical sip from his own glass, "A sign from the Maker."

"No," Sarvan pulled at the edge of his tunic, holding it away from his body, "you just said something so stupid that I was thrown from my feet in amazement. Stop," he held his hand out to Lennen, "I have to wash this out of my clothes before I get sick from the stench."

vVv

Arathea dropped the towel and reached for her robes instead. Shoving hurried arms through, the elf began to feel her heart hammer hard against its bone cage.

vVv

"Oh, it's locked," Sarvan grunted with a small jerk of the knob. "Gotta be kidding, I have to piss. 'Ey!" He pounded the door with his fist and clenched his trousers.

"Let's go to another bath chamber—"

"You don't understand," Sarvan replied with a sobered frown, "I will piss myself if I take a single step further. And I am about to be sick from this mead."

Lennen sputtered a laugh.

Throughout this exchange, Sarvan was distractedly rapping at the door, praying that the old git inside would scrub faster and get out.

vVv

The pair seemed nice enough, Ara pondered as she tied her sash, judging by their light conversations. Perhaps they were kind like Larus, and she had nothing to feel frightful about.

Arathea drank a gulp of air and swallowed it down, along with her fear. Squaring her shoulders and raising her chin, Arathea unlocked the latch. A voice on the other side exclaimed in relief, thanking the Maker.

vVv

Sarvan raised brows in surprise.

"You are not an old git," he blurted.

vVv

In spite of herself, Arathea smiled at the sudden statement.

The young man before her was rather tall, with pale, brown eyes and black curls. She glanced over his shoulder to meet the deep blue eyes of a second man, surprised gaze nearly hidden beneath bright, red locks.

Her smile fell when the second man's mouth smirked in a not nice manner.

And then the first said,

"Where is your master, pretty elf?"

vVv

Flecks of fire floated up to meet the stars. Everyone sat around the fire, unafraid and warm, as if the element hadn't devastated them only night ago. Laughter mixed in with the crackling embers and crisp plucking of lute strings.

Thanron and Imraddon tasked themselves with passing mead around in wooden pints, taking pleasure in the smiles that widened at the sight of their bounty. Lips and noses dipped into foam and lifted with ruddy cheeks and emboldened conversation.

Before long, elves and guards alike rose from their seats and moved their feet in time to the lute's strumming. The instrument was being passed from elf to elf, for the several that played among them.

"You don't dance," Thanron grunted as he sat against a flat rock.

Imraddon sat on the slab of rock across from him as he snorted in reply.

"Why not?" the younger elf grinned while holding out a pint.

Leaning to grab it, Imraddon replied, "I do not enjoy it."

"Everyone likes to dance! Even Fenris likes to dance," Thanron pointed out before swigging his mead. Wiping the back of his mouth, "And he's a mile broodier than you."

The elf shrugged.

"You just need to drink up," Thanron decided with a smile. "Then, you'll be on your feet."

Imraddon rolled his eyes and lifted his cup.

vVv

"You aren't going to drink?" Emma spoke quietly, staring at the empty hand that dangled over the elf's knee.

Fenris fixed her with a soft smile.

"With so many people running amuck, I would prefer to be attentive."

Emma nodded. She had already gulped back almost an entire pint, and her stomach tightened with the swift expansion. When Thanron had placed it into her lap with a wicked grin, Emma drank with an an eagerness that rivaled a man dying from dehydration. So ready was she to rid her mind of unpleasant thoughts. Already, Emma was numbing pleasantly to the world around her. Already, people and images were blurring around the edges. It was nice.

"Emma," the elf said beside her.

She turned to him, focusing on his bright eyes with a blink of concentration.

"Yes?"

He said nothing.

After long moments oozed by like the syrup she pushed past her lips, Fenris shook his head.

"Try to let loose," he said simply, echoing Thanron's earlier phrase.

Emma smiled a little before replying,

"You first."

The elf's mouth lifted in a half smile.

"That is what it will take?"

Emma nodded.

He curled his fingers, beckoning her mead forward.

She stretched it to him, smile widening into something more sincere.

vVv

Thanron peered into his pint, gently shaking its contents.

"What d'ya think Ara's up to?"

Imraddon glanced over his shoulder with a shrug as he pissed into a bush.

"Prolly curled up in a fancy inn, lucky thing." Thanron smiled softly, snorting at the thought of her excitement to sleep against a soft mattress, "She deserves it."

"Mm," the blond elf agreed.

"Hope she hasn't run into any trouble like us."

Imraddon shook his head.

"She is safe with Danarius."

vVv

"_Please stop," _Arathea sobbed beneath the hand pressed hard against her mouth. _"I do not—"_

She doubled over in pain when a blow was delivered to her stomach. Gasping for air, and grunting at the pain in her gut, Arathea watched her tears fall against the warm tiles of the bathroom floor. And she watched her pink toes curl and grow white as they pushed against the floor.

Rough fingers grabbed a fistful of her hair and thrust her head back. She winced in pain at the searing in her scalp, forced to meet the dark, blue eyes.

These men had seemed only hearty boys a moment ago. In just the snapping of a wooden latch, Arathea had witnessed them become monsters.

After a brief glance, the nearest man had shoved Ara back inside the bathroom, followed shortly by the second man, whose frightening eyes still held hers. They made quick work of her robes, wrenching them from her body. Letting out low whistles, they violated her flesh with toothy grins. And then, the pair descended. Poking and prodding, hands and fingers sliding along her limbs. Arathea shivered, though warm steam curled against her skin. She felt sick to her stomach.

Dare she scream for help? Would they hurt her terribly if she did?

The decision was made for her when Arathea's legs were forced apart, and something fleshy collided with her thigh.

She screamed.

"_Help! Larus!"_

Her breath was stolen when it pushed inside of her.

Another blow to silence the screaming. This time, across her cheek. Arathea drank blood as it pooled inside her mouth. She moaned at the pain, vision blurring with black spots smattering all around.

Arathea raised her head, blinking at the spots. A figure that sharpened with each meeting of her lids. Every sound stuck in the elf's throat and her body froze.

Danarius was leaning against the door frame, arms crossed against his chest, and wearing an expression of pure boredom. He snapped his fingers and his lips moved, but the sound filled the space in a strange way. Did he cast a spell?

"Right," he replied calmly, over the sound of slapping skin. "Now, only you can hear me."

The magister cocked his head to the side, narrowing black eyes. Ara's heart thickened with dread at the sight. Black eyes? What had she done to cause it?

Why wasn't he helping her?

"Do you want me to help you?"

She grimaced as the human pushed inside her again, faster, harder, it was difficult to concentrate on Danarius—

His voice was quiet, but firm.

"Answer or I shall leave—"

"Yes!" Arathea cried breathlessly, "Please!"

She watched Danarius's eyes lift to fix on the young men as they laughed above her.

vVv

Sarvan smiled with relief as he pushed himself deeper inside the elf.

"I knew she'd come around," he sighed, patting her rump appreciatively. "I'm too good to resist."

Lennen snorted a laugh before holding up his now empty glass.

"Everyone wins!"

Sarvan grinned—

vVv

Arathea was showered with drops of blood.

She leapt forward, heel slipping on the slick tiles. Danarius reached out to grab the elf before she could collide with the floor, and collected her naked body in his arms.

"Avoid looking if the sight of gore unsettles you."

"Yes," she whispered shakily, "yes."

He turned to leave with Arathea cradled in his arms. Despite her mind screaming to close her eyes, they remained open.

It was too grotesque to put into words… it was difficult to imagine that the piles of bone, red and yellow mush… had been men.

Arathea fainted.

vVv

"Stupid creature," Vanum sighed, dark eyes rolling to the ceiling. "I told her not to look."

_Thank you for rescuing her_, Danarius answered softly, _foolish as she may be_.

The demon stepped along the hall, elf woman limp in his arms. He answered in a quiet snarl, "You left me no choice."

_You wouldn't do that to Larus. You wouldn't have left her to them._

"Larus is not my concern."

Danarius shifted with restlessness.

_Since when did bathing become such a dangerous affair? _

vVv

Larus jerked awake as his arm fell over the side of the bed. _Vishante_, he had only meant to change out of his travelling clothes. Absolutely _no _intention of falling asleep. He rubbed his tired eyes with the edge of his palm, swiping a hand out to feel for Arathea.

She wasn't there.

He turned about with a sharp breath, wild eyes searching each corner.

Larus growled in more fear than frustration, scrambling to the door. He wrenched it open while scouring his mind for places she might have wandered off to. Hopefully, the elf was smart enough to cover her identity as an elf, and remain hidden from the inn's guests.

The first place he would check would be the baths, Larus decided, as he hurried down the halls.

He frowned in surprise when he approached the east wing bath chamber. Its door was ajar, with faint flickers of candlelight pouring out. He sighed as he walked, praying that Arathea was not foolish enough to bathe with the door open.

Larus pushed it open and stared at the mess before him.

The healer was too confused by what his eyes drank in to feel disgusted by it.

Two heaps of ripped muscle and flesh folded back to reveal splintered bone. Blood coated the ceiling in long strings of color. He could make out locks of red hair poking out beneath what looked like fingers in one pile. Brain matter near his foot. Larus's fumbling mind gathered the images and came to the one possible conclusion.

These people had been Pulled.

Since the Pull was a drastically rare skill, or perhaps more accurately, _burden_, Larus supposed that Danarius must have been the spellcaster. But what need did he have for it? And did it have anything to do with Arathea's disappearance? Larus searched the inn with a more pressing urgency, heart beating in his throat.

He asked around, not caring that this alerted everyone to his party's members. Secrecy was no longer important, not until he obtained his secret to keep. But Ara was nowhere to be found; not in the kitchens, not in the tavern, not in the stables, nowhere.

Pleading with muttered breaths that the elf had returned to their room during his searching, Larus made his way back.

He pulled open the door to find Danarius standing before a nightstand, where there sat a large bowl. The magister's fingers were soaking a cloth with bloody water. Larus's feet stumbled forward, and he dazedly closed the door behind himself.

"What happened?" he no more than whispered.

Danarius lifted his head from its focus on the pale red cloth and raised a brow.

"'What happened'?" he echoed with a condescending smirk. "The inevitable, Larus. Did you not think this would happen?" Gray locks fell into black eyes as the magister cocked his head to the side, "Naive."  
Larus's eyes widened, furrowed brow deepening. It was Na Vanum that had answered him, black eyes smiling coldly in that distinct way.

"What does that mean?"

Vanum stepped aside, and the healer nearly tripped over his feet as he rushed forward.

Arathea was laid out, exactly as she was on that fateful day in the kitchens. This time, she was naked. Thin cuts spanned in random areas along her arms and legs, with deep, red marks about her hips. Blood was oozing in quick ribbons across her brow, dripping onto the pillow below. Her cheek was red with the outline of a blow, and flecks of blood coated her entire body.

Arathea's hair was still wet from the baths.

It didn't take a genius, nor a healer, to figure out what happened.

Larus couldn't swallow the lump in his throat.

"Did you get there in time?"

Vanum snorted a laugh.

"Does it look like we got there in time?"

The healer fell to his knees. Bringing trembling hands to his face, Larus wept.

vVv

Thanron leapt to his feet, mouth opened in a perfect "o", and swayed a bit. Placing a hand against a laughing Imraddon's shoulder to balance himself, Thanron called out his idea to the crowd.

"Let's play a game!"

Everyone cheered with ruddy cheeks and excited claps that made Fenris cringe and look over his shoulder. They were being too loud, he knew, but steady status reports from the sober handful of guards eased his nerves. Well, that and the steady torrent of mead. Emma passed him the second pint that they shared after wiping the foam from her lips.

When Thanron offered no suggestion as to what game they should play, voices cried their opinions.

"Hide and Seek!" one girl called.

Fenris's head snapped up from the mead, "_No._" It would be a nightmare for him and the guards to keep track of everyone in the darkness.

"Tag!"

"Absolutely not," Fenris barked over the excited cheers of agreement, "Pick something at least a little stationery."

"Let's play the question game!" Thanron grinned, raising his pint. "Everyone partners up. Loser takes a long, good drink."

Fenris nodded appreciatively, sighing and passing a giggling Emma their pint.

vVv

Thanron sat himself down with a confident smirk.

"Are you ready, Imraddon?"

Imraddon smiled with a suspicious squint.

"Are we starting now?"

"What do you think?" Thanron challenged.

He laughed, tilting his head back.

"What do you want to do after this?"

"The night is young," Tharon proclaimed before scrambling to change it into a question, "'innit?"

The elf thought for a moment, eyes glancing between the many elves coupled in their silly game. Imraddon felt so grateful to have Thanron sitting before him. The elf was grinning with anticipation, watching his lips in preparation for the question. There was a glow to his skin, a pink to his cheeks. His warm eyes were a little glazed from the mead, but he was otherwise attentive. Imraddon wondered if the elf should stop drinking.

He didn't want a repeat of the last time they drank mead together.

"How many drinks have you had?"

Well— no. Of course, he did. What Imraddon didn't want a repeat of was Thanron's disgusted grimace, shoulders slumped in shame in what he had allowed himself to do.

Thanron's smile fell a little, and Imraddon knew that the elf heard the underlying question buried beneath it.

"Don't worry 'bout it."

Not knowing whether he referred to the drinks themselves or his fear of another drunken kiss, Imraddon dropped his eyes to his pint.

Chuckling without conviction, he murmurred,

"You lose."

Thanron drained the small remainder of his pint, intent eyes trained on Imraddon's in a way that made him ache.

vVv

Emma furrowed her brow in concentration, fingers dancing about her chin.

"How am I supposed to answer that in a question?" she finally demanded with an exasperated laugh. "'What is my favorite color'? How can I answer that without losing?"

Shrugging, Fenris tilted his head, "Is not the objective to win? Why would I make it easy for you?"

"How would _you _answer a question like that?" Emma countered slyly, "What is your favorite color, Fenris?"

The elf frowned, "Are you allowed to repeat my questions?"

"How should I know?"

They fell into a silence as Fenris thought of questions and Emma toed the patch of swirls she had created earlier.

vVv

"Thanks for last night. I needed to hear those words."

Emma raised her gaze to the elf's, frowning slightly as she searched his eyes for something buried beneath. Fenris held his stare, unfolding himself to her. Praying that Emma would find the thing that she was looking for.

"I am sorry you needed to hear them," Fenris answered softly, "I am sorry that it happened."

She shook her head.

"It's not our fault. That man," Emma's glanced over the elf's shoulder, to a shadow that shifted somewhere in the scattered trees, "That man was a madman, just as you said."

"Yes," Fenris agreed.

Emma blinked, and the elf could see that she was focusing hard on something just within her reach, "And," she pressed on slowly, "thank you for…" Emma scoured her mind, "I'm sorry for…"

vVv

Everything was right there, lain out in her memory. Every moment they had shared. But her recollection was muddled. Like she was watching their moments together with an outside perspective. A spectator in their doomed love story. Emma could not place herself in the mind of the young, hopeful girl, but she watched her amber eyes ignite when the elf entered a room. Genuine happiness.

Emma had loved him.

And it was untainted. Not like her love for Danarius now, so violently mixed with frustration and confusion. Her love for Fenris had been simple and innocent. It was always a thing of pure fascination, his every movement captured her deepest interest. He was an enigma that Emma had wanted to understand. Each answer she uncovered had been more beautiful to her than the last.

It was difficult to grasp that same man was sitting before her, patiently allowing her thoughts to form. That he was unchanged. That only _Emma's _being had shifted. She was trying to see it. Maker, it was so strange to see it there in her memory.

vVv

Fenris stared at Emma's downward gaze, watched a lock of hair slip from behind her ear to brush against her cheek. The words were awkward in his ears, and he could sense they tasted just as awkward on her tongue. A week ago, the very same words would have been as natural as a sigh. But now, Fenris knew it required a special effort from her.

All this time, the elf thought Emma had just developed a sudden hatred for him when she compared their love to the fabricated nonsense that now consumed her. Fenris had thought that Emma was disgusted with their sinful exchanges, as a product of the spell. That the drinking of his master's blood shined a light on his imperfections. He thought that the spell had opened her eyes.

Now, Fenris understood, that the final ritual had closed them.

In lingering glances and pert frowns of confusion, Fenris could see that Emma's feelings stirred inside her. They were attempting to break past the wall that Danarius had built. And the result was hatred.

_You make me itch_, she had hissed.

Fenris scratched at the itch Danarius had embedded in her heart.

vVv

The next game was suggested by an older elf who loved stories. Everyone sat in a circle and shared a sentence of a story and the next person would follow that up with a fresh sentence, and so on. Everyone laughed at the growing atrocity that was becoming their story. They swigged their mead, and tried to swallow it fast before the next sentence would throw them into a fit of laughter.

When it was ended, a new game was suggested.

Everyone cheered.

Everyone except Imraddon, Thanron, Emma, and Fenris.

It was called, Guess the Kiss.

All participants, of which there was no limit in players, were blindfolded and spun about three times, so that their sense of direction was lost. Several elves and guards formed a ring around the fire to prevent people from walking into the flames. The objective was to collide with another participant and find their lips. After a kiss, they needed to guess who they were kissing.

Simple.

But four of the players were jittering with nerves. They each wanted to play, and then they each wanted to run and hide from it. Thankfully, the mead they had drank slowly melted away their reluctance and they eventually tied their blindfolds in place.

Music began to float from the playful strums of strings and quick taps of a drum. The game had begun.

vVv

Imraddon walked forward with slow steps, hands held out before him. His fingers brushed what felt like an ear, and a feminine giggle followed. Hands fluttered across his neck, searching for the sides of his face. He smiled as the woman pulled him into a chaste kiss.

"You're quite tall," she said slowly, "but you're an elf." Imraddon recognized the voice to be Elen, a playful blonde elf who always wore her hair back like a horse's tail. "Hmm…you have a very serious presence. Either Fenris or Imraddon." Elen pulled him forward into another kiss, fingers tugging at his hair, but not out of passion. "Aha," she cried, pulling away with a laugh. "You hair is a shorter than Fenris's! Imraddon?"

"Correct," he laughed.

"I am?"

"Elen."

She affirmed this with a giggle and the two stepped off.

vVv

Emma collided with a soft creature, guessing it to be a woman. They searched with spread fingers until they found each other's faces and fought back giggles that would give them away. They shared a long kiss with knocking teeth and clumsy breaths. Fingers searched for Emma's ears, feeling their round edges.

"Either Emma or a guard…" a woman's voice began thoughtfully. Emma strained to put a face to the sound. "Since I am the only female guard participating, you are Emma."

"Yes," she answered with a smile, "nice to meet you. Thanks for joining us," Emma added graciously. "What is your name?"

"My name is May, and nice to meet you too, milady. I'm the female guard with short, brown hair, just so you'll know."

They laughed.

vVv

Fenris chuckled at Thanron's disgusted "blegh"ing when their lips met, guessing immediately who it was from his need to bend so low to find his mouth.

Fenris wandered forth and brushed arms with someone who passed. They each turned, feet crunching in the dry grass, and stretched arms to find each other. Recognition wiped away their smiles as their fingertips slid along their bodies.

Emma tensed beneath his touch, and Fenris dared not initiate their kiss.

He waited for the human to guess his identity and move on, heart hammering in time with the beating drum. Fenris prepared himself for her withdrawal. But instead, Emma placed a hand around his arm and pulled him forward, raising on her toes. Their lips brushed once, lightly, before pressing deeper into a kiss.

Fenris held still as she kissed him slowly. Her lips moved against his with uncertainty, as if testing a bath for its heat. He fought the urge to wrap his arms around the human and ravage her mouth. Fenris knew he wasn't allowed to move.

Emma pulled away, mouth slightly parted in awe.

That was not unpleasant.

It didn't feel right, but it didn't feel wrong, either.

The kiss was familiar and taboo.

They spoke each other's names quietly, as the game required. A moment of hesitation, words on their lips, before walking on.

vVv

The lute stopped and the game was done. Everyone laughed and removed their blindfolds, flushing with both mead and the kisses they shared.

Thanron and Imraddon did not have the occasion to kiss. They had each been tensed in preparation the entire time, but their paths had never crossed. Thanron met eyes with Imraddon, and felt something gnaw at his chest.

Fenris called for everyone to sleep off the mead they had all consumed, and drink plenty of water in preparation of the next day's travels. No one argued, for they were very tired, and clumsily shuffled to their tents.

vVv

Imraddon laid down, nose almost brushing the tent's wall. Thanron did the same. This was how they began each night, as far away from touching as possible within the confines of their tent. But each morning, one would wake to find themselves closer than they had intended, arms and legs draped over the other's. When Thanron had found it so that first morning, he had written it off as a product of the cold weather. Bodies naturally sought heat in the night.

"You did not get me to dance," Imraddon whispered with a hint of smugness.

Thanron smirked in the darkness, "I will."

They listened to their breaths, felt them gradually heat the space of their tent. Voices quieted to hushed whispers outside, and the fire's roar dimmed to a gentle crackle.

"Imraddon…" the elf began in a murmur. "Can I ask you something?"

His stomach did a flip and he asked, "Are we playing the game again?"

"No."

Imraddon swallowed.

"Were you disappointed?" Thanron spoke with a voice that grinded like rocks beneath one's foot. It made Imraddon shiver. "That we didn't…"

He hesitated before answering.

"Yes."

His heart pounded painfully inside his chest as he waited for Thanron's response. But for a long time, it didn't come.

And then…

"Yeah," Thanron finally sighed.

Imraddon furrowed his brow, fearing that he couldn't speak with a tongue that felt two sizes too large inside his mouth. Yeah, that's what he thought? Or yeah, so did he?

"What does that mean?"

"Go to sleep," came the gruff reply, "ya git."

vVv

_Hi, all!_

_ Thanks for being patient. I was busy this spring break. Wrote this chapter extra long to make up for it._

_ Please let me know what you think of developments!_

_ Eureka234: Well, first there was that song by Vast. The one Fenris sings. That line, "And you're just a slave like me… at least I know it's true." That line inspired the story. The ending was planned before the beginning. I had this ending scene in mind and then I had to figure out a way to start our path to it. The fluffy parts are what the characters control._

_ ElyssaCousland: Love me some fluff. _

_ Lady Velvet C. Peterson: They sure do! I love those two, so much. _

_ datajana: Wow, you're a fast reader! I'm glad you've picked my story to binge on :)_

_ Secret Companion: Yeah, we'll explore of his not burning later. _

_ Savannah: I agree! I wish I could write all day long. But alas, I cannot. I hope you enjoyed this chapter after the wait._


	70. It is me

vVv

"Can you…" Larus, who had been slumped like a sack of flour against the wall, spoke softly. He swiped a hand across his face before closing his eyes in a long blink. Na Vanum watched with silent annoyance. He ground his teeth as Danarius stirred uncomfortably inside him, leaking sadness into their veins.

Why pity?

Larus used the wall to hoist himself up, eyes cast to the floor.

"Stay here."

Vanum stared. When he did not answer, Larus added,

"I need to clean up...the mess," he struggled to form each word, gaze dancing about the floorboards. "And make sure we don't get hanged for killing those men." Larus snorted once, distantly and humorlessly. "And… get some supplies for Ara's wounds."

The demon narrowed his eyes, "_You_ stay with the elf."

At last, Larus turned his empty stare to him.

"I do not want to leave her," he began with a sigh, " but I am better skilled with people than a bloodthirsty demon. And there is a lot of explaining to do." Larus turned to the door on wobbly legs and left Vanum alone to the sleeping girl.

Taking orders from a human. How utterly absurd.

"_Don't even think about leaving this room,"_ Danarius murmured._ "You stay."_

That healer should be grateful to Vanum for saving his beloved idiot. Not commanding him to deal with more inconveniences. He glanced distastefully at the elf.

"_Acting so high and mighty. You let them rape her _before _you saved her."_

Vanum chuckled, "An act of mercy."

"_For whom_?_" _

"Those fools," Na Vanum approached the bed, eyes roaming the elf's naked flesh, painted with their blood. "They died, happy. One died, sheathed between this beauty's legs, and the other died with a bottle of Agreggio in his belly, watching the show."

"_And what about the girl?"_

"She gets to live."

The elf chose that moment to wake, eyes fluttering like a moth's wings as she sucked a gentle breath between her teeth. She groaned softly, fingers lifting to her head, which must have been pounding like a bitch. Frowning at the pain, the elf's eyes turned to Vanum, who still stood over her body. He raised a brow, waiting with dull interest for her to speak. Perhaps she will feel the same way Danarius does.

"_She will_."

Yes, his act of mercy will be completely wasted on her pointed ears, so he wouldn't bother to even explain himself. Vanum vaguely wondered how long he would permit the shouting and crying before he knocked the elf out. Babysitting a _hysteric _elf was too much for Larus or Danarius to ask of him.

Her eyes filled with tears and Vanum braced himself, clenching his teeth and ignoring the chanted warnings from Danarius that he mustn't harm the girl.

But then, the elf spoke words he had least expected to hear.

"_Thank you_," she whispered hoarsely. Clenching eyes shut as pain wracked her body, Ara forced herself to sit upright. Vanum hadn't the slightest idea why until she dipped her head into a deep bow. "I am indebted to you, master."

Vanum coughed a surprised laugh at the irony of that statement, though his brow remained furrowed in alarmed confusion. If the elf hadn't screamed at him for commanding her to beg for rescue, both he and Danarius had expected her to be traumatized. If not for the rape, than for his Pulling of two men. No one had witnessed the Pull without panicking and flinching in his immediate presence. Even Danarius's precious healer had cowered at first. And the stoic Fenris had become a leaf in a storm.

This one held his stare with her own salty gaze.

"How did you manage to—" her gaze trailed away as she attempted to mimic the movement with her hands, "I've never seen anything like it."

Na Vanum should have slapped her mouth for opening out of turn, but he found himself far too bemused to silence her.

"I am the Pull," he answered with a slight frown, "It is me."

She stared up at him with wide eyes, drinking in his words as if they were tangible.

"Amazing," the elf breathed, momentarily transfixed with the idea, before blinking in roused confusion, "wait— what? You, yourself, are the Pull? How is that possible?" She leaned closer and her gaze shined with child-like innocence. The elf then lowered her voice as if their talk had become a secret, "Does it have something to do with your eyes? I've noticed they change."

He tilted his head, dark eyes studying her face.

"Do you always disregard proper conduct for a slave?"

The elf seemed to realize herself for the first time, and she sputtered a hurried apology, pressing palms against her cheek to blot the tears. Now, her face finally displayed a touch of fear as her gaze fell to her twisted fingers after placing them in her lap.

That was when she noticed her lap was bare. She whimpered in embarrassment, cheeks coloring as she scrambled to cover herself. The elf's finger's reached for a blanket, but then she hesitated, glancing from her bloody limbs to the cream sheets. She decided to forgo the blankets and cover herself as much as possible with her hands.

How entertaining a creature. Never was something easier to mold between one's fingers.

"Did I command you to stop speaking?"

Na Vanum swallowed the urge to laugh when Arathea flinched and fixed him with a startled gaze, lips puckered in innocent confusion. She looked absolutely absurd, naked and covered with the blood of her rapists, lips pulled into a small, plump circle.

"Answer my question," he demanded with a playful lift to his voice.  
"Oh!" she breathed, tucking a lock of hair behind her ear and bringing worried eyes to her legs. "Forgive me, master, I am not usually so disrespectful. I—… I forgot myself."

Na Vanum waved his hand in dismissal, "I merely asked a question, out of curiosity. I didn't tell you to stop the outrageous conduct or beg for forgiveness." He tilted his head to one side when the elf took to a vigorous head shake.

"Are you disagreeing with me?"

"No, but," The elf's frown deepened as embarrassment colored her cheeks. "I must apologize. Even if you were not my master, it's very rude to pry." She finally met his eyes again, and her face slowly slackened upon what she found there.

Vanum didn't realize he was smiling until he had watched her expression shift to one of confusion. That mouth, puckered in an elfy pout. Those round eyes that drank in a room as only children are able, and her body; flecked with the sweet nectar of his Pull. He bent forward, trapping her face in his hands, and pressed a smiling mouth to the elf's… as creatures of this world are wont to do.

The elf did not struggle. In fact, she didn't flinch. Just a soft breath of surprise that he swallowed with pleasure. He did not lengthen the kiss as Danarius liked, tongue twirling like an exotic dancer. No need for that to send his message. A firm moving of his lips against hers was all the gesture required, before the demon pulled away. He watched her startled face with satisfaction.

Vanum heard the door open behind him, followed by Larus's hurried steps, but he didn't move his gaze away from the girl.

vVv

Arathea stared at the man, whose dark eyes trapped hers. It was as if he could reach into her chest with that gaze, and clench her soul between his fingers. She was afraid. Arathea was _very _afraid of this man, in fact. This man who called himself the Pull. A feeling itched at her skin, the unfamiliar prick of suspicion in her belly.

This man was not her master.

When their lips had met, a joining of which she hadn't expected in the slightest, Arathea tasted something strange. A metallic darkness that mingled with her startled breath. She knew that the man who saved her, whoever he was, did not possess a human heart. What human was capable of such power? To erupt two men, to pull their insides outward with a single glance. A glance so cold, pupil and iris blended in black. What human was capable of such a stare?

And why would he kiss her? Arathea didn't want that.

The body he controlled was married to her friend. And Ara only wanted to kiss Larus. But how could she push away the man who owned her? She was, by law, to do with as he pleased. Until he handed Larus the official rights to posses her before at least ten members of the senate, Arathea was Danarius's… and that made her this strange creature's slave, as well.

She wanted to ask him what he was… _how _he was… but Larus was pulling at her arms, pushing vials to her lips, pressing humming fingers to her skin, and stammering frantic questions.

"Does it hurt when I do this?"

Arathea finally turned to him as he pressed a hand to her left side. She sucked in a breath as a sharp pain shot up her body. Eyes brimmed with tears, Larus nodded to himself and held his glowing palm above her skin. Ara frowned at his sadness.

"I'm alright," she told him gently, bringing a hand to cup his cheek. Larus brought his gaze to hers before dipping his head with trembling shoulders.

"No," he whispered, watching his fingers quake with magic and fear, "you aren't. You're covered in blood and bruises." Larus shook his head, "This was all my fault."

"Don't be silly," Ara softly scolded him, coaxing his gaze back up to hers with a finger to his chin. "I've learned my lesson," she said with a small smile, "no more venturing alone for me."

"Yes."

Arathea glanced up to find Vanum halfway through the door, a wolfish smile about his lips as his hand lingered around the knob.

"No more, indeed."

vVv

Safe inside his bed chamber, Danarius collapsed into a chair. The magister immediately dropped his head into his hands, elbows propped on knees. He groaned softly, and tapped a foot against the floor.

"Why, why, why?"

_Why not?_

"You could have knocked them out!" he cried, leaping from the chair, "For fuck's sake, you could have killed them!" Danarius paced the room, running fingers through his hair, "Why did you need to Pull them?"

Na Vanum sighed.

_Does the demon named "The Pull" really need to answer that?_

vVv

"You know," Larus sniffed, eyes red with tears, "it would have been funny if it weren't so dreadful—" He sat before the bed. elbows resting on its surface.

Arathea gathered the edge of her tunic— well, Larus's tunic— against her palm, and wiped the snot and tears from his nose. He pushed her hand away and grabbed a towel from the ground.

"The innkeeper," Larus continued after a long breath, "whom I half expected to throw us out for such a mess, laughed it off and told me not to worry about it." He glanced up from the towel, the ghost of a smile on his lips.

Arathea reached for their travel bag, pulling it into her lap with a grunt. She gasped at the pain in her hips and Larus immediately grabbed it with a hiss of disapproval, "Stupid! I just cast that spell, be careful!"

"How do you mean he laughed it off?" she questioned. reclaiming the bag from his hands and placing it on the space of bed before her.

Larus rubbed his temples, "When I brought him to the baths, he just said 'Someone had too much fun', laughed at his own joke, slapped me on the back, and told me he'd take care of it."

Arathea giggled, "How nice."

"Not really," Larus frowned in thought. "More unsettling."

The elf pulled their book from the bag, and softly scolded Larus for forgetting to mark where they had left off. She then handed it to him before settling back against the pillows, nudging the bag off the bed with her feet.

Larus glanced at the bed before his eyes fell back to the open pages.

"Can I get in, too?"

Arathea leaned up with a frown, "Of course! Why would you even ask?"

The healer shrugged and crawled into the sheets beside her. He sat against the bedframe, book grasped in his fingers.

"Because of what happened—"

"Don't be silly," Ara interrupted, turning on her side to lay an arm across his stomach. "You would never hurt me. Why should I be afraid of you?"

"Because I'm a man, too—"

"Oh, Maker," she sighed, "Read the book. I got it out to change the subject— to cheer you up—"

"To cheer _me _up," Larus cried, laying the book down. "That's— you're ridiculous! You were just raped!"

"Yes," Arathea snapped, pulling away from him as anger slipped into her skin. "I was. But I'm fine now, so let's read! There's no use dwelling on unpleasant things that can't be changed."

Larus stared at her with wide eyes, mouth slightly agape.

"What?"

"You've never raised your voice with me before."

Arathea sighed and let the anger fall away, "Yes, well, I didn't like it. So stop being silly and read the next chapter."

"I liked it."

"Oh, just give it here and _I'll _read it—"

"I'm reading, I'm reading!"

vVv

The demon's voice was tired,

_ "Why are you acting like this? You asked me to take over and I did. You were about to collapse, you should be thanking me."_

Danarius glared at the mirror, a humorless laugh on his lips.

"You are an idiot."

_"Who are you talking to— you're staring into the mirror. Me…?"_

vVv

"_If you play this little game any further…" _

A tingling warmth is left by each kiss that trails up her neck. Wet hair tickles her face as lips descend upon hers, whispering those words with a bone melting growl. So husky, so naked. She can feel his nearness, only a fraction more, and he'll be along her body.

That minty aroma that burns her senses with nothing but…

"Fenris…" she sighs his name as fingers slide along her inner thigh, so teasing as they brush— so close to Emma's center, before moving up and across her hip. She moans in pleasure and frustration.

"_If you seek him,"_ that gentle purr persists, wonderfully paired with a gravel that grates at her mind, numbing her to everything but Fenris. Emma could be skinned alive by that voice. It reduced her to nothing but bones and moans.

"_Emma?"_

Sighing in pleasure as his hand moves up her chest, to the base of her neck, Emma opens her eyes.

The elf is grinning at her with sharp rows of teeth, where a length of intestine is clenched between the bone. Ribbons of blood trail his chin where the lyrium should be, emerald eyes replaced with coals. With a demonic snarl that rips whimpers from her chest, he leans in close, mint mixed with the stench of death. His black eyes stare deeply into hers, and the fingers that had massaged her neck are now wrapping around it in a vice like grip. She sputters a strangled cough, unable to look away from the terrifying monster before her.

He growls with a roughness that allows her to manage a final gasp,

"_I will make you afraid."_

Emma tries to scream and thrash out of his hold, but the fingers grow tighter and tighter around her throat—

Her eyes flew open and she clasped a trembling hand to her mouth, sobs on her lips.

vVv

Fenris swiped his hand along the human's arm. Up and down, stopping to draw circles with his thumb.

She abruptly noticed his presence and cringed in fear, wrenching herself out of his touch. Then, after searching his patient stare, Emma relaxed back against her bedroll. She whispered a breathless apology, bringing a hand to her throat.

"You're frightened by me."

Emma turned her face to his, to the eyes that held a million apologies.

"No," she lied, shaking her head. "I had a bad dream."

"About me," the elf's voice was quiet as he dropped his gaze down to the hand that had touched Emma. "You said my—"

She sighed, "It was just a dream."

The human knew her fears were misplaced. Fenris was her protector and savior, not a monster set on killing her.

Emma knew what the nightmare had meant. What it must have meant.

The dream was a manifestation of the strange feelings he had begun to provoke. They mixed awkwardly with her dislike and fear, creating a sensuous beast that ate her alive as he kissed her skin. She was beginning to see past the layer of dislike, the fog that clouded the beauty of his eyes, the forced torrents of Danarius filling her head.

The elf began to trace the lines of his arms. It made Emma frown to see it. She used to watch the habit with envy. She used to long… to trail her own fingers along the enchanting roads.

Emma reached a hand out, and laid her fingers against Fenris's wrist. He flinched in surprise, hair falling into his eyes, before becoming a statue. His mouth was a hard, concentrated line. Emma then slowly trailed one finger along the path, gliding up his skin and feeling the hum of lyrium beneath his skin. She had been so accustomed to its sensation. Now, it felt like she was feeling it for the first time.

"It hurts," Emma murmured, studying the marks that seemed to glisten, "when I do this… it hurts, right?" When she was given no answer, Emma glanced up from her administrations.

The elf's face was twisted in pain, but his smile pushed through it. In a very sad, nostalgic way.

"Yes," he replied in a soft laugh, "it does."

Emma pulled her hand away, "I'm sorry."

The elf shook his head, gazing down at her beneath dark lashes.

"It hurts more when you don't," he said.

Emma flushed, not certain of the best response.

"Your nightmare has good timing," Fenris grunted as he rose into a stand, "It is time to move out."

vVv

_How do we feel about Na Vanum's interest in the innocent Arathea? Please review what you think! Thanks so much for reading! _

_Zakuromidna: It is my greatest desire to make the characters seem natural and realistic in a sense. I don't always achieve it, but I really want to._

_ElyssaCousland: As said, yes! I have no claim to the whole magister falling in love with slave concept. Have fun with it! _

_Lady Velvet C. Peterson: Wow! You're a dedicated reader! Thanks :) _

_Eureka234: It was fun to write their drunk games! Yeah, I love Vast so much. _


	71. Cold Man

vVv

They would arrive at the capital's gates in three days.

Fenris could hear the hurried clopping of a horse's approach, and turned to meet the eyes of a grim faced guard. It was the same man who blamed Emma for the loss of his friend. Fenris had been watching him closely, in case he decided to act out on his hatred for the human. He eyed the guard expectantly, waiting for him to speak.

"You're called Fenris," the guard affirmed in a low voice.

The elf answered in a single nod, raising a brow.

The guard was a young man, with fiery red locks that mirrored his hotheaded nature. He plunged himself into every task, and he glared with concentration. Fenris had observed him eat a bowl of stew as if it were a dangerous enemy. Even his name was harsh, like knuckles against a cheek.

"You're called Kraygavum."

"Krayg," he grunted with a furrowed brow, "Feels weird to be addressed that way by a slave." His stare darkened and he narrowed his eyes, "But not as weird to be escorting another slave like she's the fuckin' queen."

Fenris smirked, and slowed his horse.

"I promised my master to kill any creature who threatened her," The elf leaned closer, dropping his voice to a growl, "I break that promise with each breath you draw."

Krayg's frown deepened as he stared up at him with hard eyes.

"Did you have a reason to speak with me," Fenris hissed, "or do you simply wish to die?"

The guard pointed ahead, eyes still trained on the elf's.

"Snow storm," his voice was as sharp as it was quiet. "It's going to be a big one. It'll be over our heads in about three hours. We need to make preparations. You're welcome."

vVv

Demetri stared out the carriage window, watching snowflakes drift past in thick clusters. Whiteness as far as the eye could see— which wasn't very far. He reached a hand into his coat pocket, pinching the black stone between fingers and stared at the nothingness. It provided a blank canvas where Demetri could paint images of her with his mind. A nose that crinkled in playful distaste here, eyes that glowed as bright as flames there… and dark waves that spilled down olive skin. His favorite was the smile that he never deserved to see. Demetri pulled out the stone to examine its smooth surface. It bore a tiny gold crown engraved into the black.

_The piece careened across marble checkers._

"_Don't be a sore loser."_

His sister sighed in her sleep, rubbing a cheek against his thigh. Not certain as to the reason why, Demetri bobbed his leg up and down to rouse her. She released a short snore that caught in her throat, and lifted her head from Demetri's lap with a frown. Glancing up at him, eyes puffy with sleep and spit dried into the corner of her mouth, Mirima drew back into her seat. Demetri turned his gaze back to the white world.

"Was I asleep long?"

Demetri shrugged, "I wasn't paying attention."

"What's that, in your hand?"

He turned to find her staring at his palm, where the stone laid. Demetri shoved it back into his pocket.

"It's nothing."

"Is that a King's piece?"

"No."

Mirima sighed in frustration.

"Yes it—I saw it."

"Your eyes are failing you."

Demetri flinched as a hand slapped against his arm, and he turned to meet the glare, so like his own.

"You're breaking your own heart," said Mirima, eyes dropping to his pocket. "You—"

"Mirima," his stare grew weary as he leaned back against the window. "Don't."

vVv

Larus adjusted against the saddle, nerves tingling as blood struggled through his arse. He glared at the reins and blinked away frozen flakes as they pelted his face. The unforgiving wind blew right through his robes, as though they were made of silk and not fur and leather. His teeth knocked together as he was chilled down to his very bones.

_Damn _this cold.

A breathy laugh mixed in with the wind's ghostly howls. The healer's glare sharpened as he turned his head to the source, where he found Na Vanum sitting upon his horse with the easy poise of someone trotting along the warm, sandy shores of Vyrantium.

"A bit cold for you, Larus?"

Grumbling profanities, Larus turned his eyes back to the white expanse.

"There is plenty of room for you in here!" Lord Nam fretfully called from his carriage, fingers curled around the window sill's edge. "Do stop torturing yourself, old chap!"

Larus gripped the reins tighter. At least anger helped to numb his aching muscles, that tensed with each shiver.

He glanced at Ara, who was frowning at the road with determination. Her cheeks were red with the wind's persistent licks, and her hair whipped wildly behind her. While he tucked his chin into the top of his robes, huddling into himself for warmth, Arathea held her chin high. It made him love her and pity her all the more. If only she could ride in a carriage, sheltered from this damned snow.

On their first day of travel, their fellow travellers spelled out the impossibility of this prospect. A slave, ride coach among nobles? Don't be absurd, Larus. She's never ridden a horse? Too bad. She's suffered wounds about the hips and lower back? Pity, but she won't be riding with us _humans. _She had much better ride an animal, and be satisfied she needn't walk.

Danarius spoke with sincere regret that he had given every one of his carriages to the cause of his wife's voyage. And if he had thought to bring one for Arathea's use, he would have. Larus believed him, kicking himself for carelessly mounting a horse and forgetting the idea, himself.

Larus argued and argued—politely, of _course_— with Lord Nam and his companions. _I humbly beg to differ, my Lord_; _I'm afraid you don't understand_; _That is as true as anything, but; If you would please overlook it this once._ It was difficult to keep his voice even, expression civil, when all he wanted to do was mount their carriage's horse and steer it over a cliff. Such ridiculousness.

"I'm so sorry," Danarius had spoken to him privately, wearing a grimace that pinched at the corners of his mouth, "But I can't seem to change their minds. And I don't want to offend Lord Nam, as I am in his debt for—"

"It isn't your fault," Larus had assured him with a sigh. And it wasn't.

Now, his friend smirked with pleasure at the sight of his silent frustration. He hoped the demon would fuck off soon. In all likelihood, it would remain until Danarius reunited with the elf's lyrium embrace.

vVv

"I'm gonna _fuckin' _freeze my arse to death!"

Thanron balanced in his saddle, fingers seeking warmth inside his robes. Snowflakes flew into his mouth as he opened it to complain, which made the situation all the worse. Things became unbearable when you couldn't even part your lips to bitch.

Even through the wind's howls, he could pick out Imraddon's distinct chuckle. A stifled sort of noise, low and coupled with a shaking sigh. Thanron turned his head to glance at the oaf, hands now clamped beneath his arms.

Imraddon smiled weakly at him,

"Yuh-you loo—... y'look f-f-unny," he lifted his chin in a gesture to Thanron's limp reins, "r-riding like that-t-t."

Thanron raised a brow.

"You alright?"

Imraddon shook his head, smile falling into a wince of discomfort.

"I am-m c-cold," he replied between chattering teeth.

Thanron called above the wind's jabbers,

"Fenris! Think we've had enough, yeah? Can't feel my face anymore and Imraddon's 'bout ready to go into shock."

The elf, riding with ease, nodded once in agreement before lifting his arm in an all cease. And cease, every rider gratefully did.

Maker, they should have stopped ages ago. Long before the storm was upon them, if Thanron was calling the shots. It was going to be a bitch and a half to set up camp in all this—Thanron climbed down from his horse with an angry grunt—white shit. It was falling like hail. The snow was so thick and sharp, Thanron kept glancing down at his hands, expecting them to be covered in cuts. But no, they were just blotchy and red as hell. He'd huff a bit at his irritated fingers, cupping them to his mouth and marveling at his ability to expel _warm _air, despite how freezing he felt.

And then there was Imraddon.

Thanron watched him climb down from his horse like a big, wooden rod was fastened between his knees to keep them apart. He looked stiff all over, poor sod. Imraddon held his arms away from his body, looking like someone had just doused him in water, 'cept it was frozen. He wore a pained grimace as he glanced at his horse, whereupon a pack was fastened. Inside the pack was a means to some fraction of warmth, but Imraddon seemed too exhausted and cold to reach for it, let alone assemble a bloody tent. He could barely pitch a tent without nature's fussing.

"I'll pitch it," Thanron grunted, shoving feet through the snow. He reached the horse and grabbed the pack hanging from its side. "Think you can hobble over to get our blankets?" Thanron glanced up as Imraddon gave him a nod that more resembled a small seizure. Seeing it prompted him to make quick work of the tent, despite the numbness of his fingers.

Fenris called a small meeting just after Imraddon returned with their blankets.

"Took you long enough," Thanron scowled, pulling one from his arms to wrap around the quivering oaf, tying it off in the middle so it stayed. "You're starting to freak me out with that. You okay?"

Imraddon rolled his eyes. At least _they_ weren't frozen.

"Let's go see what Fenris's got to say."

They set off to join the others in the middle of camp, where Fenris stood, grave faced beside an even graver looking guard. Emma was speaking to the elf, a worried frown pulling at the corners of her mouth.

vVv

"I don't like it," Fenris told her with a small shake of his head. "I would feel better if I scouted a bit."

Emma felt a rush of fear in her gut and stammered a hurried, "You can't do that," when Krayg cut her off with a barking laugh.

"Why in the hell are you in charge?" he flashed his teeth in a smile that didn't reach his eyes, arms crossed over his chest, "Scout?" Krayg nodded to himself, eyes spanning the white nothingness that surrounded their camp. "He's an elf, a slave, _and _a dumbass—in charge," he shook his head, "You can't see fifty feet in front of you, but sure, take a horse and go scouting. Ride off a cliff."

Emma glared at him.

When Krayg caught her stare, even the fake smile left his face. Each time their eyes met, Krayg made certain to remind her of that awful night with a narrowing of his eyes, and a hatred that burned as hot as the fires that caused his friend's demise. Perhaps Fenris should spend his time scouting within the camp's perimeters with Krayg skulking about.

"I know that you're right," Fenris lowered his head and rubbed at his temples, "I said I would feel better if I could." He raised his chin and glanced at Emma before turning his eyes to the crowd gathering before them. "This storm is so sudden. It almost seems casted."

Krayg shook his head with a small smirk.

"It's not," he swiped a tongue along his front teeth, "but you're 'gonna wish it was."

vVv

"Fuck. _That_!" Thanron muttered under his breath as he marched back to their tent.

The meeting was about survival in a blizzard, led by the oh-so-helpful-and-brooding- Krayg. He gave everyone nice, little tips'n'tricks to not catching a nasty case of Cold Man in a nasty storm, such as this. Cold Man was a medical condition, he explained, that occurred when a body used up more heat than it could make. It was a deadly affliction, that Cold Man. And Krayg reminded everyone frequently throughout that "this" was a nasty storm, indeed. This notion only put more of a chill in everyone's bones.

The tips were helpful. At first.

Stay out of the cold as much as possible. They built a massive fire in the camp's middle, but the storm was so bad that they were told to remain inside their tents, and pull them as close as to the pit as possible. Thanron already did this.

Next, they all had to eat, despite their lack of desire to. They had to eat salted meats and cheese to fuel their bodies in hopes that they would generate more heat.

vVv

Emma felt silly pushing the cheese's edge past her lips, watching Fenris bite into his dried beef with distaste. He had warmed their meat before the fire, and that was about the only pleasure in eating it; the pleasant warmth as it sidled down to her stomach.

The elf mirrored her thoughts.

"I never expected that I would desire the refusal of meat and cheese."

His thoughtful gaze was pointed at the small space between them.

"I haven't been hungry since the day you shared your meals with us."

Emma lowered the block of cheese, a soft throb trapped in her chest as something stirred within. "I'm glad you aren't hungry," she murmured without giving thought to it.

Fenris raised his gaze to hers, a crease forming between his brows as he furrowed them.

"Thank you for that."

She flushed at his gratitude, eyes falling to the patterns in her blankets.

"It's—uh—no need."

Emma raised her gaze to find him smiling in a way that warmed her a bit more than the blanket wrapped tight around her body, or the food that slid into her stomach.

vVv

"Who salted this shite?" Thanron grumbled, chewing hard at the dry meat. "You?" He lifted an accusatory glower to the elf. "Tastes bloody awful."

Imraddon returned his hard gaze with a retort that lost its stern effect among the knocks in his teeth.

"It n—needed to kee—keep."

vVv

Tip number three of Krayg's oh-so-helpful list:

Remove all clothes, as they are wet with snow. Wet things fester the wounds of the cold, adding to their risk of Cold Man. This, he insisted, they did not want.

Thanron hesitated, one hand curled around the edge of his trousers, and held up a finger to Imraddon.

"And I swear to the Maker, if you look _once _I will throw you out in the cold and watch you catch enough Cold Men to build an army."

Imraddon, back turned, held up his hands in a signal of compliance.

Thanron glanced at himself as he pushed down his trousers.

"'Sides," he rumbled, stepping out of the fabric, "even you wouldn't wanna see my pecker right now. Cold's made it so small, my pinky finger would better satisfy a woman."

For some reason, this made Imraddon laugh until he nearly coughed out a lung. His laughter was made choppier by his chattering teeth. Thanron regretted having said it, grumbling curses under his breath as he lowered himself to his bedroll. Once he had finished tucking himself inside its folds, he sighed, "All done," and promptly turned his back to Imraddon. He listened to the sounds of Imraddon stripping out of his own clothes. After two minutes of quiet grunts and sighs, there was silence. Thanron waited for him to crawl into his bedroll, but heard no rustling of its covers.

"I'm stuck," Imraddon finally announced with a hint of shame.

Thanron immediately turned, ready with an eyeroll. But then the teasing exasperation fell from his face, as the spectacle spilled out before him.

The elf was standing with arms raised over his head, bent at the elbows. His hands dangled at the wrists in a helpless way, tunic bunching up around his hair with blond locks poking out the top. His chest and stomach were exposed. Thankfully, he hadn't gotten to his undergarments yet. Though, they still hung loosely at his hips in a way Thanron didn't appreciate one bit.

When did Imraddon find the time to chisel his body to perfection? All the bloke did was cook and nag all day. Why did warm, ivory skin look like that? Somehow glowing without the help of a single candle, only the soft illumination from the fire outside their tent's walls. How did his skin pull so tight over every muscle? How could he be so thick, and yet graceful and lean?

"The edge is c-caught in a but—button…but I cannot get…"

Goosebumps puckered along his sides as he shivered in the cold.

"One sec," Thanron stood and grabbed his undergarments, quickly shoving his legs through. He walked over to Imraddon, swaying and leaning with every step. The elf passed eyes over his body again and again. He slowed his every movement, exaggerating steps as he continued to stare. _Why _did he stare and prolong a simple plucking of the fabric's edge from the button? The answer was simple, but Thanron could never admit it. Not out loud. Never.

"Hurry up," Imraddon's plea was muffled by his tunic, "I am c-cold—"

"Yeah, yeah," Thanrom muttered as he gave him a final once over.

It was nice to be able to stare without Imraddon detecting his blush. Mirroring it with one of his own. It was nice to give him a good uninhibited look. It was nice to just stare at him without anyone else knowing he was doin it.

It was nice to admire the fucker. He was damn admirable.

Thanron unhooked Imraddon's tunic in less than a second and returned to his bedroll without meeting the blond's eyes.

"Thanks," Imraddon mumbled as he crawled into bed.

"Mm."

And then there was oh-so-helpful-survival tip number 4.

"It's rea—...lly only for emergencies," the elf tried to assure him, "I doubt it will—come to that."

"You better hope it won't," Thanron growled. "Cuz there's no way I'm doing _that _with _you_." He leaned to grab one of his extra blankets and tossed it to Imraddon. "There. That should help, yeah?"

Imraddon had flinched when the blanket met with his face, drawing back with a scowl.

"Body heat is-s more effective."

"Fuck that, fuck that, fuck that—"

"Calm down, Thanron."

vVv

Emma shrugged out of her wet traveling robes, eyes cast to the floor. Her shoulders quaked and she watched her skin flush as the ground's cold crept into the pads of her toes. Wrapping arms around herself, she listened to the sounds of Fenris doing the same.

"Don't waste any time," the elf rumbled between the metal clinks of his armor. "Get in."

Emma turned to glance at the now ominous bedroll that loomed five feet away. She could feel her heart beat against the skin of her arm. Nervous. Emma raised her gaze to check on Fenris, and almost yelped in surprise.

He was standing there, naked but for a blanket that he had wrapped around his waist. For some reason, Emma frowned in confusion when she saw the lyrium roads that swirled with grace along his skin. As if she had forgotten that they were there, below his garish armor. And forgotten how beautiful they were.

Fenris stared at her expectantly, an impatient frown creasing his brow. Hair fell into his eyes as he lifted his chin toward the bedroll.

She said, "Can you look away when I'm getting in?"

The elf nodded once.

Emma stepped to the bedroll and lowered herself to her knees, pulling back the many sheets. She crawled inside their warmth and immediately sighed as they brushed her skin. The elf was staring at her when she lifted her eyes to him. Emma had the sinking feeling—

"You didn't look away," she accused.

He joined her inside the bedroll, a half smile threatening to lift one corner of his mouth. Their arms brushed when he settled against the roll's padding.

"You asked me if I 'could' look away."

Emma turned to glare at him but it fell away as their eyes met.

The howling grew louder outside and rattled the taut fabric of the tent.

She was too busy realizing how close their mouths were to touching, and the softness that had taken to his eyes, and his skin—so close, so warm— to bother with the storm's threats.

"Turn onto your other side," Fenris commanded, voice a bit rough with eyes focused on her mouth.

Emma did so, flushing in the dim light.

Fenris pressed himself along her body, chest meeting her back. She sighed as warmth spread throughout the enclosed blanket walls of their bedroll. She sighed as warmth spread throughout her stomach.

"Hopefully, the storm is brief," murmured Fenris, words brushing the edge of her ear.

Emma nodded, licking away the dryness of her lips.

"Yes."

_Neither of them would have minded much if the storm lasted an entire day._

vVv

Imraddon shivered as the storm grew louder. It gripped their tent between fists and shook it violently, His body was growing tired from the convulsions, his muscles beginning to ache. He turned his face into the pillow, seeking warmth, but the fabric was not helping. The sheets seemed to soak up the cold and trap it against his skin. The tent had become an icebox, despite the fire that roared, only paces outside.

He turned, containing the soft groan that would alert Thanron to how pitiful he was. The elf was still along his bedroll, now even his shoulders moving against cold. If one couldn't hear the wind's howls, a single look at Thanron would suggest this night was like any other.

Thanron had always run hot. Lucky sod.

Turning back onto his side, Imraddon couldn't help but wonder if surviving a dance with fire had something to do with his heated skin—

A loud rustling sounded behind him, coupled with angry grumblings that he couldn't make out. Imraddon turned with wide eyes to find Thanron knelt on the ground with bundles of blankets in his arms, before he pulled back Imraddon's sheets.

Thanron grit his teeth as he shoved Imraddon's arm until he remembered himself and scooted away to give him room. Thanron crawled inside, and returned the sheets against their bodies, in addition with his own.

And then they were naked together in the same bed.

Imraddon expected that to be the end of it, though he wasn't complaining. With such a warm body so close, and all the extra blankets, relief was impending.

"Th-thank y—" he began to say.

And then Thanron shoved an arm beneath Imraddon's head so that he rested against he

skin. An arm wrapped around his waist and pulled him closer with ease, Imraddon's side meeting his chest and stomach. Thanron then intertwined their legs, a concentrated frown on his face. Then, he lowered hard eyes to Imraddon, who watched them soften around the edges.

"Better?"

Thanron didn't want to embrace Imraddon with their naked skin. But his concern for a friend got the better of him. And that was enough to warm him, rushing head to tingling toes.

He closed his eyes.

"Maker, yes," sighed Imraddon.

vVv

_nazaninhemmatpour89: I'm glad you're enjoying :) Thanks for the wait!_

_ElyssaCousland: Innocence has more to do with spirit and less to do with past experiences. Arathea is innocent, but she's also a beautiful elven girl in a land where they are enslaved. Sex is a given. I'll touch more on her past later. Let's just say, Danarius was not her first owner. Na Vanum is definitely a mischievous demon. He thinks he can claim whatever he likes. The nightmare was mixed, revealing that she has feelings for him but the spell has also forced her to dwell the negative aspects, as well. Like the fact that he is incredibly dangerous and at a demon's wim._

_barbex: Thank you! I personally love Danarius. I wanted to give him a complex character and past that forced us to acknowledge that he was a victim, too. And though he is selfish and very much like a child, Danarius is just a man in love with a woman. I loved that you got that so perfectly._

_Lady Velvet C. Peterson: Thanks! _

_LittleGrowl: I know! I teared up listening to it as I wrote the scene._

_LittleGrowl: Updates aren't usually this slow, sorry! I'm glad you're enjoying it :)_

_Freckles: Thank you! I work really hard to make my characters seem realistic in the speech, actions, and cognitive thought to more effectively pull people into the story. I'm glad you like Miri! She doesn't get so much attention, in part because she's not in the story as much. She will be in Minrathous. Danarius is a meanie at times. I try to make the reader feel the same confusion toward him that Emma does. That last line was so inspiring, thank you!_

_MirandaBasilisk: For the sake of the plot! I'm glad you care about what happens to her :)_

_mavehnan: I'm back!_


	72. Most humans

vVv

"I have to pee," Emma mumbled into the pillow. She squeezed her thighs together and willed the pressure in her stomach to go away, but it persisted in rolling waves. Emma rose into a sitting position and rubbed her eyes with the back of her hand.

"Then, go," Fenris replied, voice a little scratchy with sleep. How had he managed to sleep for even a second with such noise outside?

Emma wrapped a blanket around herself.

"I will," she spoke with a small shiver, "but I'm not eager to go outside."

"'Go outside'?" Fenris echoed with confusion. "Go in here."

Mouth agape, she turned to glare at him. The blankets bunched across his chest, tan arms bent beneath his head.

"I'm not going with you in here!"

"Then I'll step outside," Fenris sighed, leaning up as he tossed back the blankets.

Emma rose from the bedroll, shaking her head.

"I'd rather you stand next to me while I pee outside, than pee in the tent and have you smell it all night."

The elf chuckled, striding towards the tent with his tunic in hand. Shoving his arms and head through, he held open the tent flap for Emma to pass. Emma scrambled forward instinctively before turning back for her robes with a flush. She hurried inside them and rewrapped herself in the blanket as she joined the elf. He seemed oblivious to the cold as the wind tousled his hair, snowflakes disappeared in the white locks.

"Aren't you cold?" Emma breathed as she handed him a blanket.

He accepted it with a small smile.

"Freezing. Please hurry."

vVv

Emma stared at the snowy ground, sighing with relief. She collected some snow in her hand and attempted to clean herself a bit, silently praying that the elf was giving her more privacy this time.

As she rose on aching legs, a flash of red caused her to start. Her scrambling mind immediately pushed forward flames and burning flesh. Taking a step back, she squinted into the snow, hands clenched into fists at her sides.

Fenris was beside her, a hand on her wrist and ready for action.

"What?" he demanded.

"Nothing," Emma blinked at the realization with a short shake of her head. "I thought I saw something. It's just him."

The guard named Krayg was facing South, likewise relieving himself in the cold. His head was bent, wind whipping his crimson hair. He shivered after tucking himself back in his trousers, bending to gather the thick blanket he had been trapping beneath his boot. His normally fierce expression was made even more intense by the cold, with a brow that furrowed so deeply, one could barely see his eyes.

Krayg turned to find them staring and glared in response as he bunched the blanket about himself.

"How are you holding up?" Emma called above the noise.

The guard stared at her for a long moment, poking his cheek with his tongue.

She tried again, a bit louder this time. "Are you alright?"

Krayg narrowed his eyes and bent to spit into the snow before turning back toward his tent. Emma watched his back as she and the elf trudged to their own tents. When she saw Krayg fold back the flap, she was surprised to find that its insides were empty of another person.

Emma frowned and veered left.

"Emma."

"He'll freeze," she answered with certain strides.

When they approached Krayg's tent, Emma immediately crouched and shoved through its opening. Krayg glanced up from arranging blankets around himself, at first in passing—and then in surprise upon finding Emma. His eyes widened and hardened in the same lifting of his chin. They dared her to remain in his space a second longer.

"Why are _you_ without a partner?"

"You killed him," growled Krayg.

Emma winced, nails biting her palms as she clenched her fists.

"Come lay with us."

"I'd sooner dance naked in this blizzard."

She pursed her lips, biting the inside wall of her cheek. Krayg was behaving like a stubborn child.

"Your lips are blue," Emma informed him calmly (this involved an exhausting amount of effort), and lowered herself to her knees. "You'll catch the same Cold Man that you warned us against only hours ago."

Krayg glanced away with a scowl and mashed his lips together.

"Please," Emma sighed, leaning to meet his eyes. "Don't think of us as—however you do. Think of us as heat sources," she reasoned, "a means for survival."

Krayg glared at the ground. At first, Emma thought he was in deliberation. but then she realized that he was simply refusing to acknowledge her further.

Emma turned to glance helplessly at Fenris, whose jaw was jumping from his position halfway inside the tent. He rumbled with anger, "Let pride be your death, then." Krayg continued to stare at the ground, though his hold tightened around the blankets. "But answer one last question before you depart this world—" the guard finally glanced up, "Is it safe to sleep in this?"

Krayg blinked at the question before replying, "Dumb elf— why wouldn't it be safe—"

Fenris crossed the tent in one stride and delivered a punch to Krayg's jaw. The man was unconscious before he met the ground.

"Fenris!" Emma scolded him.

"What?" the elf grunted as he picked Krayg up and tossed him over his shoulder. "He said it was safe."

vVv

Arathea averted her eyes to the span of trees as Na Vanum veered to ride beside her. Fingers picking at the groves in her reins, she chewed on her lip and pretended his nearness was not intentional. She watched as a passing tree branch unloaded its snow burden onto the ground below.

When he spoke, Arathea could no longer ignore him, and dutifully lifted her eyes to his. They were still the same two obsidian stones where pools of blue should have been.

"Forgive me," she answered, swiping hair out of her stare. "What did you say?"

Arathea had heard what he said, but she wanted to prolong her response. And the smirking in his eyes, with that contained smile that made his lips twitch… suggested that Na Vanum was fully aware of it.

He didn't repeat his earlier greeting of "How goes my pretty elf?". Arathea was glad that she didn't need to address his use of the word _my_, despite having agreed that she was to be Larus's. Perhaps it was a reminder that she wasn't "yet" his friend's. Not until he signed her away.

Instead Vanum inquired, "Are you keen on snow in your face?" with a slow spreading smile, he added, "You're riding as though your nose isn't ready to fall off."

Ara glanced at Larus, who rode just out of hearing distance. His gaze was pointed to the road, an irritated grimace on his face as snow pelted his skin. She was grateful the human could not hear them, because she doubted their conversation would do anything but displease him.

"I don't dislike it, Master—"

"Are you angry that you cannot ride in a carriage?" Vanum turned back to glance at his warmer friends, tucked away in their wooden confines.

She shook her head, "I'm grateful to be joining everyone in Minrathous..." Arathea trailed off as she watched the smile slowly fall from his face.

"How modest," Vanum replied flatly as he returned his gaze to the road. Arathea wondered what he had been looking for that couldn't be found in her response.

"You are ridiculously cheery."

She frowned at that.

"Thank you—"

"I wasn't— ," he glared at the back of his horse's head as it bobbed with each step, "That was not a compliment."

She laughed. Larus had sneezed just as he was bent to adjust his saddle, and the force had caused him to collide with his horse's neck. He angrily rubbed his nose, lips moving quickly (in Arcanum curses, no doubt). The healer looked over his shoulder to perhaps see if Arathea had witnessed it, looking dismayed to discover that she had. His sheepish wince turned grim when he noticed Vanum riding close beside her.

"Do you love him?"

Arathea blinked at the sudden question, smiling dropping from her face faster than rocks.

"Yes," she spoke with uncertainty. Why was he asking her this? "Yes, I do." She lifted her chin to meet the dark eyes, and found that they were intrigued again.

"Interesting," Vanum mused, narrowing his eyes. "But you can't love him terribly, can you?"

Her mouth fell open in confusion, lips forming words she couldn't taste on her tongue.

"I mean," he explained when she gave no reply, "you cannot possibly love him…if you're joining him in Minrathous." Vanum cocked his head to the side, tongue poking his cheek as he thought for a moment. Arathea felt an unpleasant tingling in her stomach. Butterflies. She was frightened when Vanum parted his lips to continue.

"If the people see you and him together in Minrathous… and he isn't treating you with the expected amounts of disdain… they might draw conclusions. Conclusions that have killed many Tevinters. Nearly killed your master's brother. At the very least, they'll ostracize Larus and strip away his title and fortunes. His family would disown him. If not for hatred, than by fear of association. And since you must have thought of that… or Larus has implied it enough for you to understand," Vanum shook his head with that easy smile, "I don't believe you truly love him."

Arathea had pressed fingers to her mouth, tears welling in her eyes. Na Vanum's grin blurred. But not before she was able to see that he was finally satisfied with her response.

"I think the Maker built your eyes to cry," Vanum murmured, leaning in so as not to be heard. "You do it with such conviction."

Arathea sniffed, lowering her head so he couldn't see.

vVv

He had been trying to make her cry. He had hoped bringing attention to her lack of welcome in comforts would do the trick, but the elf proved too selfless for that. The demon had been forced to dig deeper.

After seeing her tears of overwhelmed gratitude trail along rose kissed cheeks, Na Vanum had become addicted to the sight. The tears were filled with the essence of innocence. What could only be described as lust would curl in his stomach, a human affliction he was not accustomed to. Only Danarius caused him to yearn for physical touch. Like his desire to stroke Emma's skin. Na Vanum had no desire for Emma, or her skin. But he indulged on Danarius's behalf…toyed with her in ways he could not. The milkdrinker.

But no… this lust was his own. And it was new. Bone melting. The only other lust he had felt was blood lust. Blood; thick and sticky as it rained down from a hard Pull.

This lust had him wanting to claim her lips again.

How quickly she regained herself! With a quick swipe across her eyes and drawing back of her shoulders, only a redness about her face revealed that the sadness had passed, at all.

There was something practiced about the act. As if the elf was very familiar with quick recoveries, when in the presence of someone she didn't want to see her vulnerability.

And that made her all the more interesting.

vVv

Yanwen braced herself against the cold, burying a nose in her blankets as she stepped across the snow. The animal skin walls of the tent acted like a beacon of hope in the whiteness. A beacon of hope for warmth. _Fuck _this cold, she thought bitterly, gritting her teeth. Swiping arms up and down her arms beneath the blankets, she approached the tent. Finally.

"Elen!" she called, croaking voice nearly drowned by the wind. "I'm coming in," Yanwen headbutted the tent flaps and crawled inside, dropping to her knees.

"Well, hello!" Elen chirped with the same cheeriness she carried in better circumstances. And it made Yanwen feel better, as well as envious that she could manage it. "What brings you to our humble abode?" The blonde's head poked out comically from the bundle of blankets that wrapped tight around her body. Then, realization struck her face and Elen laughed. "You haven't got a partner!" she cried. A male chuckle reverberated off Elen's chest, dark hair poking out the top of the blanket.

Yanwen glowered, crawling across the tent.

"Raina's going to haunt you for laughing like that," she scolded.

Mal scoffed at that, face appearing as his chin nudged away the blankets at Elen's throat.

"Don't you act like you didn't hate her guts."

Yanwen began to undress beneath her blankets, wincing at his words. Raina was never pleasant to her, but Maker—Yanwen hadn't wished _death _upon her. Especially not so violent a death. How excruciating being burned alive must have been! Yanwen told the couple so, and they rolled their eyes with matching smiles.

Yanwen lost hold of her blanket and flushed as it fell to the ground.

"Hey!" Elen blurted, rising as blankets fell away from her own body. "What in blazes happened to your shoulder?" Her voice lost its cheeriness as she crawled to examine the large, red span of flesh. Yanwen watched Mal's eyes, yellow as a cat's, lock on her breasts.

"Elen!" Yanwen snapped with a flush, smacking her hands away. "Leave it, Mal's staring."

"What else do you expect from him?" Elen murmured distractedly as her fingers brushed the outskirts of Yanwen's bruise. "This looks awful, Wen." She frowned at her friend's hiss as she brushed a tender spot. "What happened?"

Mal sat up in his bedroll with a grin.

"I think we should mess about, the three of us," he licked his lips, dropping eyes to Elen's rear as she leaned to grab her bag of surprise. "Maker," he breathed. "That'd warm us up, for certain."

Yanwen's mouth dropped open.

"I don't know what you see in him," she marveled.

Elen shrugged as hands rummaged about the leather bag. She lifted bottles to her nose, giving them distasteful sniffs until she fell on the proper one.

"Honestly, Yanwen," A sobered Mal wrapped a blanket around his hips and drew closer. "Who did that to you?"

"Do you have to ask?" she grimaced as Elen applied a salve with her fingers to the wound.

Mal's features darkened as he stared at her shoulder.

"I can't believe that fucker."

"Can't you?" Elen sighed. "We've become too accustomed to Emma— and Danarius's blue eyes. Most humans are like that."

Mal shook his head, "He's awful." Folding arms across his chest, he added, "Even for an elf hater. None of the other guards have caused any trouble."

vVv

Krayg's eyes snapped open and he shoved at the flesh beside him, eliciting a grunt from its owner.

"Ungrateful sod," the elf cursed in Arcanum.

He scrambled up from the bedroll on wobbling legs, gathering a blanket in front of his groin. "How _dare _you—?"

"Drive away the Cold Man that had begun to take your limbs?" Danarius's bitch rolled her eyes, running fingers through her hair. "A thousand apologies. The storm's nearly passed, so you can leave."

With wild eyes, and hands shaking with anger, Krayg wrapped the blanket around himself. Spitting curses in Arcanum, he thrust himself out of the tent.

vVv

"The wind's stopped a little," Thanron murmured, eyes still closed.

Imraddon's legs shifted against his.

"Yes."

vVv

Na Vanum smiled while everyone else jumped in surprise. Other guests turned to stare at the man who had slammed his fists against the table. The demon's eyes flitted to Arathea, who held a calm expression as she stared at her lover's neck from where she stood behind him. Lord Nam had timidly suggested that it wasn't appropriate for her to be sitting at the table like an equal, and Larus scathingly replied that he disagreed. When Lord Nam argued that "_one wouldn't allow a dog to eat at the table like a human"_, Larus lost hold of his temper a bit.

"Larus," Nam spoke with false apology, "I understand your infatuation— well, I don't," he added with a nervous laugh, "I understand that you _have _one…but uh…" Nam lifted eyes to Vanum's in hopes that he would aid in getting through to his friend. Vanum simply smiled.

"It simply isn't done," winced Nam.

Addis was staring at a woman across the tavern, pretending he didn't give a damn. Na Vanum supposed he must have been turning memories over in his brain. How many times had _his _favorite slave been refused tables and carriages until she gave up being in his world?

Larus spoke in a voice that largely contrasted the fury in his eyes.

"I'm aware of tradition," he spoke evenly. "My family put several in place." He lifted his dark gaze to Nam, "She will eat at the table. She is not a dog."

When Lord Nam began to protest, Na Vanum lifted a hand to silence him, smile still on his lips.

"Larus," he leaned in, dropping his voice to a low murmur that wouldn't reach Nam's ears. "Have you thought about the elf?" he chuckled, glancing at the ruffled magisters across the table. "Do you really think she _wants _to dine at their table, knowing how undesired she is?"

Larus was silent, eyes still locked on Nam's.

A delicious tension ensued. He could feel the waves of discomfort rolling off the elf's body.

"You're right," the healer finally muttered. He rose from the table, grabbing a plate for himself and Arathea, and lifted his chin in a gesture for her to follow.

As the pair walked out, Arathea turned to fix Na Vanum with a thoughtful frown. His lips pulled in a half smile that promptly caused the elf to point her gaze forward.

He decided that seducing the elf might be easier than he anticipated.

vVv

As they walked up the stairs to their chamber, Ara wondered how Na Vanum had thought of her so acutely amidst the confrontation. Larus had become so focused on forcing them to acknowledge her as a person, that he had perhaps forgot to ask if she wanted them to. Not that she resented Larus for it. Arathea understood that he only seeked for her to be treated fairly… but his efforts tired her when rejection poured in from all sides.

And then the man who seemed to only take pleasure in her discomfort came to Arathea's rescue. For the second time, such an unlikely creature was her savior.

Perhaps there was more to Na Vanum than met the eye. Perhaps even he wasn't aware of it.

vVv

_**Wild Beasts - Plaything (Ara and Vanum) **_

_ Casmir1080: I'm glad I'm not too predictable! Thank you. I promise to upload as often as I'm able. _

_ Lady Velvet C. Peterson: It's definitely brought our man couple and the boys closer._

_ datajana: All the tension!_

_ TyleeJo: The effects themselves cannot be changed. Emma will either shove past them, or succumb to the spell. We'll find out!_

_ Wonderful Reader That Made Me Flush: I don't mind! I'm so glad you're enjoying the story so much that you want to read it twice in a row. I've had a couple people tell me they've read it more than once and I've just melted with flattery. I'm glad you like Arathea and Thanron! I work really hard to give them their own stories. We'll be exploring their backgrounds more as we go through from here. I think breaks from POV's are important to maintain interest for the reader, as well as myself. I love jumping from Thanron's blunt, crass nature, to Fenris's cautious, observing POV, to Arathea's doe eyed confusion and so on. If I was writing Emma's POV all the time, I would go mad._

_ LizHolmes: Thank you so much! I'm glad I've managed to keep you interested so far. And embarrass yourself in class! _

_ Reader That's There: I always hope that readers are experiencing what you are. I'm so glad to hear that I've pulled you into the halls and onto the road with my characters._

_ bbvsk: You got an account for me? You gotta be kidding. Thank you so much. I'm tickled pink that you like my version of Fenris :) _


	73. Wake up

vVv

Emma's fingers were too numb to bend properly as she fumbled at the wooden buttons of her travelling robe. The elf approached after watching her struggle for a solid minute, a lopsided smile about his lips. Emma's hands fell to her sides with a slap when he swatted them away to fasten them himself. He quickly shoved the buttons through and smirked at her rolled eyes. Then, he bent to collect her hands and brought them under his inspection, in search of Cold Man's lick.

She frowned when he furrowed his brow.

"We'll have to chop them off," he spoke gravely.

Emma wrenched her fingers from his grasp to examine them, curling them this way and that. "That's not funny," she muttered, staring at the flesh. Emma could hear him chuckling as he lifted Lethendralis and turned to watch him heft it onto his back.

Hair fell into his eyes as he exhaled and rolled his shoulders.

A pang in her chest.

They happened frequently now. It was like knowing all the words to a song without its melody. Feelings that tingled inside her chest, and a memory that whispered in the back of her mind. She couldn't make the connection between them. Feelings and memory. They had become distinctly separate since the final ritual. Holding back a grimace, Emma stepped into her boots and began to pack her things.

"Everyone is okay? No Cold Man bitten toes?" she turned to find Fenris packing their blankets. He didn't bother folding as he stuffed the many blankets into whatever space he could find in their pack.

"Yes, with Krayg's guidance," Fenris grunted, leaning his weight onto the pack so that he could hook it closed. "Though I would never tell him so." He wrenched it off the floor and tossed it toward the tent's opening. "I will not be able to hold back if he continues to cause trouble."

Emma frowned as she bent to roll up her bed.

"He isn't so bad," she shrugged. "He's in mourning for the loss of his friend. And besides," Emma snorted a small laugh, "I've grown accustomed to men hating me in our first meeting. The men I've met are like wild beasts that need to sniff at a woman's hand before she can be near."

vVv

Yanwen emerged from Elen's tent with bags in hand and plunged her foot into the thick snow that clustered halfway up its animal skin walls. She sucked in a breath through her teeth as the wet snow trickled into her shoe. Blast this blizzard, Yanwen scowled. If it wasn't a hindrance enough before, it was certainly one now. How were they to ride in this white muck? Yanwen took another step and grumbled curses as her second shoe was bombarded with snow.

She stomped angrily through the coldness, glaring as her legs grew more and more cold. Toward the embers that rose invitingly toward the sky. And then the warmth caressed her fingers as she lifted them just before the flame. Heat massaged at the lines in her face, coaxing Yanwen's gaze to soften. In just over a minute, she was sighing with the distant cousin of a smile upon her lips.

The fire had saved them, to be sure. If they hadn't thought to chop enough wood before the damned storm hit, at least half the camp would have caught Cold Man, shuddering their last breath in the cold hours of night.

_If _he _hadn't thought of it… the copper sore._

Her shoulder ached at the thought of him. Or perhaps when she felt his eyes upon her, for there he was, walking on the opposite end of camp. Angrily intent on her. He stared at her for a moment that lasted too long, lips thin in their pursed frown. Yanwen let out the breath she had been holding when he pointed his glare ahead, where some of the horses were tucked away in their own tent. Chucking his bags upon the snow— or rather _into, _for how much there was— he immediately knelt to take the tent apart.

Thanron passed by the sullen guard, gnawing on a slab of dried meat. He noticed Krayg, glanced back a second time, and promptly stuffed his breakfast into his trouser pocket.

vVv

He approached with wary, yet certain steps; as a fellow would approach a spooked horse. The guard's eyes darted to watch Thanron's feet disappear into the snow just before him.

"Oy— Ser Krayg, yeah?"

Krayg gave a hard yank at the pike and returned his eyes to uncurl the rope from its metal. The tent buckled as he let go, and the horses whined from within, moving uneasily. Krayg jerked away with a growl as a hoof bucked against the tarp. Just before it collided with his nose.

"Woah, woah," Thanron sang in a low voice, both to the horses and Krayg. He leaned forward to collect the rope and draw it back. The horses continued to snort in exasperation at Krayg's disturbance. "You have to...," the elf cleared his throat of judgement and did his damndest to sound nonchalant. Even went so far as to shrug in the next bit, but realized too late that it may have been excessive. "Let's take the horses out before collapsing the tent, ser."

Krayg had watched the rope leave his fingers with wide eyes nestled beneath a furrowed brow. Shocked that Thanron would take it from him.

Imraddon snorted a laugh as he neared, a sac of bread wedges in his arms. He rummaged for one as Thanron glared at the lips that quivered in an effort to hold back another outburst. Bending at the waist, he held out a generous chunk to Krayg, who glowered from his crouch.

"Thank you for your help," Imraddon gently shook the bread in a gesture for him to grab it. A peace offering, wasted on this oaf. From the looks of his eyes—shrouded with hate— Krayg seemed busy fighting the urge to eat Imraddon's hand, instead. "The storm would have been unpleasant without your guidance."

Krayg dropped his eyes to the slab of bread before raising them back to Imraddon. He slowly rose to his feet and peeled his lips apart.

"_Fansis ma vandil iumhan o canavarum. Halun ba iston."_

Thanron picked out the words "elf" and "death". But even if he hadn't understood his share of Arcanum, he'd have known the phrase was not friendly from the way Krayg spat it out like something that rotted in his mouth.

Imraddon didn't flinch as Krayg snatched the bread from his hand in a hard swipe. His face had lost its flush of amusement, and he stared at Krayg with a new understanding as the human shoved past Thanron and walked off.

Thanron stared at his retreating back, mouth agape.

"Who shit in _his _stew?" he cried, reaching a hand into his pocket for the meat. " N'what the hell did he say? 'Elf something, something, death' is what I got." Thanron watched Imraddon's thoughtful frown as he took a bite.

The elf narrowed his eyes, and Thanron paused his chewing.

"He said he'll kill the next elf who speaks as an equal to him."

Rolling his eyes, Thanron shoved the remaining meat into his mouth, and chewed for a long moment. "Tha' sod duh-n't mean ih," he spoke around salted mush. Imraddon raised a brow and Thanron swallowed. "Said, 'he doesn't mean it'. We're not his slaves to kill. Yeah?"

"We will not find out," Imraddon spoke gravely. "Stay away from him."

vVv

"I will not miss this carriage," Emma grumbled as Fenris pulled its door open.

Fenris warily motioned for her to enter.

"Nor I," he sighed, "for your constant whining about it… "

The elf frowned as he trailed off, peering over her shoulder. He squinted and brought a hand to shield his eyes from the glaring snow.

Emma turned to follow his gaze.

"What are you—"

A whistle cut through the air.

Something hard collided with Emma's side and her gasp of surprise was stolen by its force. She plummeted to the snow, crying out as coldness enveloped her face and neck. The elf's groan sounded just by her ear.

"Fenris!" Emma grunted and tried to wiggle out from under him, but he pinned her firmly against the snow. "What is—?

An eruption of noise filled the camp as guards and elves were alerted to something Emma couldn't see. Scraping sounds of swords leaving sheathes, groaning drawstrings, and snow crunching beneath footfalls. And then there was the unmistakable clang of metal against metal.

"You need to get—inside the—damn carriage, Emma."

The elf's voice was strained and abrupt in pauses.

"Fenris," she choked, and the snow spilled into her mouth, "I can't move."

"Not yet. When I say—" A whistle of something cutting through the air and Fenris flinched. He pressed harder against Emma, a broken moan pushing through his teeth. Was he struck by something? A jolt of fear shot to Emma's stomach and she writhed beneath him.

"Fenris— get off, are you hurt?"

"I'm going to slaughter them."

Something warm collected between them. It felt hot against her back and tickled the skin as it slowly trickled down her sides.

"Fenris!" she breathed, writhing with a new urgency, "Oh!" Emma had turned her face out from the snow just in time to watch an arrow pierce the space inches before her nose.

"Count of three," the elf ground out, "you… get inside the carriage and shut the—" Fenris flinched again and the warmth pooled faster. "_Kaffas," _he whispered. "One. Two."

Grunting a sharp "Three," Fenris removed himself from Emma in a quickness that startled her. She scrambled to her feet, sinking in the snow, and leapt for the carriage. Her foot met its wooden floor and Emma leaned to enter its safe corners. She paused, hand closed around the door handle behind her.

Emma turned.

"What are you doing?" Fenris shouted angrily above the rising noise. "Get inside!"

Her eyes settled on the scene.

A swarm of men charged, swords and bows raised with the intent to kill. They would emerge, one by one, from a hill top on the opposite edge of camp, and slide down its snowy bank. Danarius's guards were waiting at the bottom. Some skewered the men as they reached the bottom. One guard was cut down as a man leapt to meet him, sword thrust before him.

Blood was bright upon the snow. It stained in sickening squirts and pooled beneath lumps that sputtered for mercy. In just seconds, the camp had become a battlefield.

Every guard and elf carried a weapon. Most of the elves brandished a dagger with tearful eyes and trembling arms, while the guards held up their shields and swung their swords. They swung and sliced at the boys and men in rags who screamed with fury. There was rage in their eyes and tears streaming down their cheeks. They came here with conviction.

vVv

His eyes darted from elf to elf. No one was hurt too bad yet. These poor sods were pretty thin. Only sheer force of will allowed them to hold up those shit swords.

Thanron focused on breathing even breaths. He'd never fought before and folks were getting cut to pieces. Seeing something like that made the elf's blood want to run away. And his stomach was about ready to fall out his asshole. This was different from the fire. This was personal and close and bloody. Thanron liked the fire much better.

There he stood, all five feet and four inches of him, holding a fancy dagger before himself. He tried to move. He couldn't. Reasoned that he was guarding the space between the skinny brutes and Emma.

Krayg had a boy trapped, pinned against the snow on his back. The boy looked a handful of years younger than Thanron, the chub of youth on his cheeks. He could see the kid's teeth chatter around stumbling prayers to the Maker as the guard lifted his sword… before bringing it down through his head. _His head_. The boy's skull caved in around his right eye, brain and blood pushing out its opening. An explosion of yellows, pinks, and reds.

Thanron spewed similar colors into the snow.

"I can't do this," he whispered between ragged breaths, dropping the dagger to the snow. "Fuck it."

He couldn't touch another man as he killed him. Couldn't feel his flesh move to accommodate the dagger Thanron had plunged into his heart. It wasn't the blood that disturbed him. Nor the fat seeping slowly out of the wound's opening. It was the close contact. The boy's last living sight was Krayg's smile of satisfaction before all became darkness.

He had much preferred the fire.

Imraddon, who hated blood as much as sin, flayed people open like they were fish. Ready to rest upon coals. His face was distant, as if his mind were on something very different.

His eyes lifted to glance at Thanron as he removed his bloody sword from a man's chest. An ache of shame settled in the pit of Thanron's stomach. He didn't want Imraddon to think him a coward.

"What use am I?" he murmured.

Thanron felt better in the fire. He hadn't been afraid, even as the flames licked his skin. And then, when he emerged to find the source, Thanron felt pride to having contributed to their attacker's end. Even if it was a point in the darkness. It was better than what he did now.

vVv

Emma stepped down from the carriage as a boy— young, with blonde hair and thin arms— raised his rusty blade, pointing its end at Fenris. He was standing upon a snowpack that elevated him above the rest.

"_HOW IS HE STILL STANDING?" _His shrill scream broke through every noise surrounding them. He stomped his feet into the snow, hopping up and down in one place. _"KILL HIM!"_

Two arches stood just below him. They reached over their heads for an arrow.

"_Emma! Get inside the fucking carriage_!"

Fenris was covered in blood. Arrows were sheathed in his body.

What could she do? What could she do? Emma watched the Archers pull back their arrows with lewd smiles, pointing their ends at Fenris's head. She wasn't getting inside the carriage. But she could hardly wield a sword in combat.

A fraction of a second's thought passed through her mind. It was the image of the boy that Fenris had killed. The evening of horror when she had almost been captured. The boy had looked like the one who screamed orders now. Perhaps they were brothers.

She lunged for the elf, grabbing his arm as she swung her body in front of his.

Emma watched the boy's eyes widen with renewed fury before he hurriedly kicked one archer in the back of the head. The other lowered his bow and stared at his cursing comrade in surprise.

The elf's voice shook, barely above a whisper, and brimming with rage.

"_Emma_—"

"They mean to kidnap me," she hissed back, fingers still wrapped around his arm. "For ransom. Just look at them," Emma's eyes swept the dismal lot. Their numbers, doubled to Danarius's at the battle's break, had dwindled to an equal amount. But they fought like lunatics, sunken cheeks stretched in screams, striking with every ounce of strength their thin limbs carried and more. They did not fear death, because it was fight now, or die.

vVv

"Oi," a voice called from his right. Startled, Thanron lifted his head.

A man, biggest and oldest in the whole lot, grinned beneath a bushy beard. He gripped an axe at his side, which he spun by the handle in a practiced motion. Thanron flinched as the man let out a sudden bark of laughter.

"I been watchin' you, knife ears." The man spoke with a booming voice, but it sounded almost friendly. Thanron was reminded of Addis. "You haven't moved'n inch since we came up on your lot. Thought you were a pup when I firs' saw. But you're just afraid."

Thanron eyes watched the axe's blade, blood smeared along the metal, as it spun round and round.

"I don' blame you. I am too. Fear is good."

The axe ceased.

"Can't fight for your life without fearing you'll lose it, can you?" The man tightened his grip around the axe and took a step forward. "Pick up the dagger," he coaxed, pointing his weapon to Thanron's. "Give it a shot."

Thanron glanced at the dagger, before turning back with a shaky sigh.

"Don't even wanna try?"

He managed a shrug. His heart beat painfully inside his chest as his mind raced for what to do. Run? Maker, but that would be humiliating. Thanron glanced at his friend, who was currently too occupied to glance his way. The oaf's sword had gotten stuck between someone's ribs and a new pursuer was closing in. Busy, busy. Maybe he wouldn't catch Thanron running away with his tail between his legs.

Thanron tensed to run, hands clenched into fists at his sides.

"Are you bracing yourself for death?" the man frowned, "or to run?"

Thanron shrugged again. Wouldn't he like to know?

The man lifted his axe, and he took another step forward. Upon the swing, Thanron would run. And the momentum of his attempt would throw the man off… and Thanron would have a few seconds head start. He was fast, he knew that much. Thanron was confident he could outrun this big, lumbering git.

But then the sodder did something he did not anticipate.

He fucking threw it.

And as this axe spun, blade twinkling in the sunlight and blood flicking off its edge, Thanron held his arms out. One in front of his face, the other before his chest. He hoped to lose one of his arms and be done with it. Better than in his chest or retreating back. He'd ignore the pain and continue his plan to run.

Thanron felt a strange rush of heat that traveled up his stomach and through his arms, to his very fingertips. Perhaps the nerves sensed their own demise and flared up in anticipation. Thanron squeezed his eyes shut.

Something crackled, popped, and sizzled.

Screams ripped through the air. Panicked screams.

They weren't his.

They weren't even Imraddon's this time.

More importantly, his body wasn't exploding with pain. No axehead lodged in his arm. Only his side smarted. Thanron peeled open his eyes, arms still held out before him.

The man was on fire.

vVv

Imraddon stopped his frantic sprint toward the pair.

He had seen the man lift his axe as a foolishly unarmed Thanron stared on.

_His feet plunged into the snow, and he flung his sword to the ground. Its weight would only slow him. _

_When the man threw his weapon— Imraddon's stomach dropped— and he grunted as he pushed harder against the snow. Again, he watched Thanron dance on the edge of death. _

_Duck, duck, duck — he begged him, forming the words on his lips, but unable to produce a sound. _

_Thanron held out his arms, ready to absorb the blade in his flesh, when all he needed to do was duck._

A brightness had emerged from his palms. It would burst from his palm and then spread to his fingers and swirl to join their light. The axe had careened toward his chest, and knicked him just below the ribs on the edge of his side.

_Imraddon watched the axe sink into the snow, several feet behind Thanron. _

_The idiot missed. _

_But Thanron did not. His attacker's body was engulfed in flame. _

vVv

Thanron watched his body burn, watched his flesh char and break away in flaky chunks. Like meat that had been dipped inside the hearth for too long. He watched the man finally crumple against the snow, wheezing in pain with eyes melted shut.

He turned to find Imraddon staring at him.

"KILL THE MAGE!" someone shouted suddenly. "HE WIELDS FIRE!"

All enemy heads turned to Thanron, their eyes so wide they seemed without lids.

"Shit," muttered the elf.

He raised his hands again, fingers trembling. How exactly did he do it? Thanron hadn't been trying before, it just sort of happened. He had felt this aching burn in his belly. Thanron hurriedly tried to find it again, waving his arms out in front of him.

Only fear ached in his belly.

The elf repeated his earlier curse in a breath as the enemy charged, swords and axes raised high above their heads.

vVv

Krayg frowned at their retreating backs.

What imbeciles! To abandon an immediate threat for the pursuit of an idiot who was currently waving his arms, as if in welcome of their blades. Krayg leaned to pierce his sword through a man as he passed by. Many guards did the same, cutting the barbarians down as they focused their attention on the "mage".

vVv

"It's nearly over," Emma repeated, trapping teeth between her quivering lip while she stifled a sob. She was bent over him as she brushed the hair out of his eyes. As if that would make any difference in his pain.

Still, it was bliss to feel her fingers on his skin. To watch her eyes brim with tears for him. _She does care_. Fenris rolled the thought around in his blurring mind.

"You're doing great," she shakily replied, "all things considered."

Fenris began to chuckle when a wet cough prevented him, and Emma flinched as blood flecked her face.

"Fenris," she whispered, curling fingers around his, "hang on a little longer."

He wanted to give her hand a squeeze, but could not conjure even an ounce of strength.

vVv

When the flaxen boy realized he was in the few, he leapt from his perch and sunk into the snow with a grimace. He fumbled for a tighter grip on his sword and darted forth. The others were too preoccupied with stabbing Thanron's dwindling pursuers to notice him slip past.

Emma had been praying to Andraste that it wouldn't come to this. But with a last glance at Fenris, who choked on his blood soaked breaths, she knew it must be done. Emma clambered upright and ran straight for the nearest corpse, of whose small bounty she had been eyeing since Fenris could no longer stand.

Emma stopped so suddenly upon reaching the corpse that she toppled over, knees meeting its ribcage. Her fingers closed around the long dagger's grip and she leapt back to her feet. The boy had nearly reached them, and Emma hurried to plant herself between him and Fenris. She stuck her blade out defensively.

The flaxen boy flinched and thrust his sword into the space between them. A few more steps and the swing could kill her.

"_Get out of my way,_" he croaked.

Emma shuddered, and silently prayed one last time that something would prevent her

attempt to kill him. She parted dry lips,

"Was your brother killed by this man?"

The boy started at that, brows pulling up before furrowing back in his fury. He couldn't have been more than fourteen years old. Emma's heart ached.

"Please," she spoke softly, "I'm sorry for your loss." Emma lowered the dagger in hopes that he would be more inclined to listen. "I truly am."

"Shut up!" the boy shouted. "Your elf ripped him to pieces! He only wanted to ransom you for enough coin to get us through winter!"

Emma shook her head sadly.

"This man is my guard," she murmured, "He saw your brother hold a knife to me and did what guards do…" Her voice trailed away as the boy leaned into his hand, lowering the sword. He quaked, teeth clenched in stifled sobs.

Emma took a slow step toward him and raised a timid hand, fingers nearly brushing his shoulder.

She whispered another tearful apology… dared to rest her palm against his arm.

The boy hissed upon feeling her touch, jerking back as he hurried a swing of his sword. Emma leaned away with a sharp breath and felt the blade's edge bite her cheek. With renewed desperation, the boy swung a second time, and Emma jumped to the right— half a second before it would have embedded in her side. She sputtered pleas for him to stop as they danced. The boy would hurl his sword toward her and Emma would spin out of the way.

Her mind raced between his swings. Images of the boy and his brother, wrestling in the freshly fallen snow. Fenris leaning his weight onto the kitchen's back wall, eyes studying the grooves in his palm. Her innocent captor's dead eyes staring past hers as they lay upon the forest floor. Tangled limbs, patches of blood on snow, firelight touching skin, ragged breaths tickling open mouths—

The boy blinked at Emma as puzzlement parted his lips.

"I'm sorry," she moaned, tears streaming her cheeks. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry."

He dropped his startled gaze to Emma's hand, which trembled around the grip of her dagger. It was buried halfway inside his stomach. She had missed her mark— his heart— in their hasty steps. The stab would be enough to kill him, but not enough to kill him quickly.

The boy dropped to his knees and Emma fell with him.

"I didn't want to."

He whimpered as Emma removed the blade from his stomach, curling weak fingers around her wrist.

She aimed the dagger at his chest and its point pushed through the fabric of his worn tunic. With a shaking exhale and a silent prayer of forgiveness, Emma thrust it forward in one single motion.

He released a slow exhale as his fingers slowly slipped from Emma's wrist. Eyes drooping closed, the boy hunched forward. When Emma let go, he crumpled to the snow.

Emma called for help and raced back to the elf. She choked on a strangled gasp as she took in the sight. He seemed as though death had already claimed him.

His skin had paled and his lips had taken a blue hue where they weren't saturated with blood. He was soaked in it, redness engulfing the once white snow where he lay. Emma called his name in a breathless croak. He couldn't really be dead, after all.

Seizing his shoulders with trembling hands, Emma tried to shake him to consciousness.

"Wake up," she demanded again, "Fenris. Wake up!"

Tears slid down her nose as she leaned over him, rocking on her knees. They struck his cheek before sliding down his skin to disappear inside the bloody snow.

Emma began to sob.

"No, please—" she begged him, collecting his limp fingers in hers. "_Please_, wake up."

Hands descended while she begged Fenris to open his eyes. They prodded at her limbs, tried to pull her away from him. She shook them off at first, ignoring their pleas for her to go with them. Until Thanron's voice sidled through the mess inside her head, she fought them.

"Emma girl, you aren't helpin' him by blockin the guards. Come on," he wound an arm around her waist and pulled her from the snow. Her stare didn't leave Fenris's closed eyes, and she desired nothing more than to see their emeralds again.

vVv

_ElyssaCousland:Na Vanum is definitely intrigued by her. Ara is overwhelmed by everything. It's a deep contrast to her life before Larus. And now, Larus is so focused on keeping her safe and pushing forth others' acceptance of her that he often doesn't notice her anxiety. _

_He knows that Vanum can be very persuading. He is a demon, after all, and an old one at that. Thanks so much for reading and the helpful ponderings :)_

_datajana: Thanks! Sometimes, my own imagination goes wild when I think about my side character's stories. It takes all my strength not to dive headfirst. I have to keep the main story going, and dole their stories out in moderation. Well, somewhat moderation._

_Lady Velvet C. Peterson: What an abrupt end to the peacefulness!_

_KuteKati1989: Thank you so much! I'm honored to be responsible for the rare occasion. _

_Freckles: I hope you were happy to find your notification for this update! Thanks for subscribing to my story and showing so much support._


	74. Someone else

vVv

Krayg shoved through the circle of fussing elves. He found the yuppy bitch and her friend in its center, administering wooden spoonfuls of syrup past the wounded elf's lips. Lady Vanashidion gnawed on her fingernails just behind her, watching the elf with unblinking eyes.

The elves had collected inside their largest tent, tossing the wounded on bedrolls and drowning them in potions. A handful of elves were injured— cuts, bruises, and a couple broken bones— nothing a drought couldn't fix. Only one guard was injured, and his wounds weren't at all serious. They had already buried the one guard who had died in combat.

No one else was grievously injured. Fenris was the only reason they hadn't mounted and began their final push for the capital.

Why did they bother? Blood drained from him in cupfulls. He couldn't have much left to spare. The elf had been hit in the chest with an arrow. Why did they waste their dwindling supplies on him?

vVv

"This is stupid," the copper sore stated a second time. Yanwen's ear twitched as she focused on retaining a gentle touch. Elen instructed her to clean the wound in preparation for removing the final arrow. Yanwen and Elen each wore enchanted apothecary gloves to protect themselves from the small amounts of lyrium that oozed from the wound. One brush of skin to the glowing liquid would place them in immediate danger.

"I'm going to open it quite a bit more than the last two," Elen replied as she cleansed her knife. "We need to let air back into the collapsed lung."

Yanwen paused her work.

"Is that a good idea?" she glanced at the elf's ashen face. "He's lost so much blood."

"He has to breathe, hasn't he?"

Elen brought her knife to the wound as Yanwen removed the blood-drenched rag. Blood spilled immediately forth and the room took a collective breath.

Fenris had been struck by three arrows. One in the shoulder. One in the back, frightfully close to his spine. And one brutish arrow on the far left side of his upper chest, stuck between the ribs. Elen had managed to removed the arrow heads from his shoulder and back. They made quick work of stitching him up, rubbing salves over the wounds.

It was the third arrow, less than an inch from his heart, that caused them to sweat. It had punctured the poor man's lung and he strained to breathe in unconsciousness. Emma would cringe with each rattling breath he drew. She would glance away when Elen turned him on his side and drained the blood from his throat, lest he drown in it. She would let out a soft whimper when Fenris choked and moaned in pain.

"He's _dead_," Krayg burst out in exasperation. "He's not coming back from an arrow in the lung."

Yanwen's blood began to boil. Her fingers ached for their tight grip around the rag, begging to strike his face for such words. With a glance at Emma, she found her ready to double over with misery. Oh, but Yanwen was a thread from cracking. If he said one more imbecilic thing, the elf feared she would not be able to contain herself.

"I'm the commander of Danarius's guard," he persisted, "I've been letting that mutt lead the pack as his master liked, but he's dead now; leave him. We move out."

Elen, who seemed to have blocked him completely from her mind, continued to cut around the wound, prodding gently at the arrow's shaft with her knife's edge. Her lips were pursed with concentration and a layer of sweat beaded her brow.

"Oi," Krayg roughly knocked Elen's back with his knee, and she gasped in surprise, "Leave him. We mount."

Yanwen rose from her knees and planted her feet before him.

"Get out," she uttered between teeth.

Krayg didn't blink. He seemed to have been expecting her answer—

He slapped her across the mouth, forcing her face to the side.

Yanwen stared blankly at a space of ground, shocked into silence. Her shoulder began to throb in warning. But an anger washed away all inhibitions. It brought her blood to a boil, colored her cheeks, quickened the breaths that warmed her lips, and pulled her fingers into fists.

She lifted her burning face to meet his eyes.

They seemed to follow something along her chin. Going by the stinging in her lip, Yanwen guessed it to be blood.

Emma's voice slipped into the silence with a softness that was just above whispering.

"Fenris is dead?"

Yanwen and Krayg continued to stare as a tangible hatred thickened the air between them. All she wanted to do was reach her hands out to wrap around his throat. Squeeze until that pretentious glower was forced from the sockets. Yanwen could venture that he felt similarly.

"No," Elen replied, having resumed her digging. "He's not dead. He's breathing, he's beating, he's bleeding. Once I finish getting this out, I can start giving him potions and salves, in earnest. I didn't want his wounds to heal around the arrows. One move of the muscle, and it'd just rip the tissue to shreds again. I have to endanger him, I suppose, before I can begin saving him."

Krayg aimed his words at Yanwen.

"It's inevitable."

"Right," Thanron grunted, leaning up from his own bedroll. "I've had it with this one." He waved a dismissive hand to Imraddon's fussings. "No, somethin' needs to be said." The blonde elf was hissing phrases none of the others could hear, but Thanron continued to shake his head, lips pulled down at the corners.

He grimaced and used a ruffled Imraddon's shoulder to pull himself off the ground. After some effort, he was standing and walking toward the copper sore, who watched his slow advance in a fierce glare. A redness about his side had begun to seep through its bandages.

All eyes were trained on them, each pair silently communicating their plea for him to return to bed, and out of trouble. Imraddon had spread the word not to tangle with this man, as he promised to kill the next elf who spoke to him as an equal. Yanwen pressed fingers against his arm, but Thanron just brushed them off as he had with Imraddon.

"Listen up, human," he began with a sigh. Thanron shook his head and held up a hand before Krayg could voice the retort that was surely forming on his tongue. "I'm grateful to you. You've protected us all— through the cold _and _the fightin'. I watched you even save a couple elves from enemy blades, even though it's no secret that you hate each and every one of us. But I'm not gonna let you slap us around, got it? Or torture our mistress with instistin' her friend's fixin' to die. Hm? The other guards are playin' nice, so you can, too."

Thanron took a step closer and crossed his arms. Krayg drank in the scene with widening eyes.

"If you'da been hit with the arrows instead of Fenris, _you'd _be lyin' in that bedroll. And Elen would still be doin' her damndest to save you, makin' that silly face of hers. Don't try and take away our friend's chance of makin it. He wouldn't take yours. He'd have waited until you either drew your last breath or opened those angry eyes." Thanron glanced back at the sleeping Fenris, who was barely drawing the breaths he spoke of. "So you do the same." He turned to face Krayg with a small sigh of sadness. "Please."

After slowly shifting his gaze from Thanron to Yanwen's steady stare, Krayg only turned to brush aside the tent flap. They watched it fall gently closed behind him.

A minute of Fenris's ragged pain passed.

"That was stupid," Yanwen finally told him.

He gave her a light push with his elbow, "I only did it 'cause you were fixin' to hit him. And _that _woulda gotten your arse killed, with none of us able to stop it."

She flushed and dropped eyes to his bandages.

"Your wound is open."

Thanron glanced down at himself and grimaced at the sight.

vVv

Arathea flipped the page, feeling its grainy surface with her fingertips. She stared at the ink and leaned in to smell it off the parchment. The former overpowered it with that rich and dusty odor.

It was strange to reflect that she _knew _the words upon the page and used them every day. She could tell the very same story that she held in her hands, word for word, but she could not recognize its form upon the parchment. Arathea wanted the power to unlock the ink's identity as the words she knew. She wanted to be taken to the places that lay in their depths, and the people that waited between their folds. Arathea wanted to be taken somewhere else, when the world became more complicated than maidens locked in towers, and knights brandishing their swords to save them. An escape. She wanted a place to dive inside when matters surrounded the pointed nature of her ears. When Lord Nam cast her with that shy and disapproving stare. When Na Vanum ran a finger along her arm beneath a table. And Larus was right beside her.

Arathea pulled the book closer, studying the ink's patterns. Lord Nam was speaking with the others; matters beyond her understanding. She squinted at the page in fabricated knowledge, trying to ignore the slow sliding of Na Vanum's finger, which had currently set to stroking the inside of her wrist.

Na Vanum would touch her when he found that no one was paying attention to them. Sometimes, right under Larus's nose. And other times, when he was tasked to look after Arathea while Larus was forced to leave her side. Na Vanum would touch her. But never more than small touches. A stroke to the back of her head, a brush of her arm. Once, a swiping of his thumb across her lip. He didn't lean to kiss her. He didn't make it hurt. Small things.

They were still enough to make her nervous. With each meeting of their flesh, even in the most innocent of ways, Arathea felt as though she was betraying Larus. What would he think of her if he found out? That she should have fought it? What good would that have done? Arathea belonged to Danarius and Na Vanum. It was up and down against the law for her to refuse his advances. And even if she _were _permitted to push away his wandering hands… how could she? Na Vanum could destroy her with a single blink. It was his right and his privilege to do so.

Yet, she was not afraid of him. Not as much as she should have been. For who could fear the creature that protected them, time and time again? From danger to embarrassment to mild discomfort, Na Vanum relieved her of it all.

But now that she was allowed to sit at the table during meals, Arathea was subject to large levels of discomfort. Even he could not help her to evade it. And he was able to steal touches in larger company.

Lord Nam had relinquished the table to Arathea when it became clear that Larus would refuse to acknowledge him otherwise. Though he still refused to allow her company in the carriage, "in such close and contained quarters". Arathea understood and did not blame him for it. Larus tried to argue the bargain to include a seat for her, but Arathea earnestly accepted the offer herself. No need to push boundaries or make influential people uncomfortable.

"But if the Carvan Brothers decide to make the merge," Lord Nam was saying, "we will need to open those routes in the mountains." He frowned as Larus shook his head, "No, we will need to, Larus. There is no other way around it. We cannot fall behind this year."

Larus swallowed his bite, and skewered a piece of sausage.

"There are ways around. It's a waste of good men, setting them on those roads—"

"We can make our deliveries in half the time," Lord Nam interjected. "And leave the Brothers in our dust."

"At the cost of hard workers," Larus laid down his fork with a sigh. "I'll think on it. I do have an idea about using the river that runs into Antiva. Directly. If I can figure out the details, promise me that you will consider it."

Lord Nam chewed on the inside wall of his cheek, before turning abruptly to NaVanum.

"What say you, Danarius?" Na Vanum's hand stilled around Arathea's wrist, only just hidden beneath the table. "Is it not best to cross The Hundred Pillars?"

If Arathea had to decide, Na Vanum was unhappy to be pulled inside their debate. But his expression remained calm, those black eyes revealing nothing as his mouth pulled into a lazy smile.

"I haven't the faintest idea," he replied cordially, leaning back in his chair. "This is quite a puzzle."

Giving Arathea's wrist a squeeze, he withdrew his hand so that it may rest beneath his chin, elbow propped upon the table. His eyes lowered to hers, his smile still in place, and she quickly glanced away.

"What do you think, elf?'

Arathea's blinked in surprise before raising her gaze to Na Vanum. Her fingers curled into fists beneath the table.

"What do I think, master?"

Dark eyes flashing in amusement, he repeated, "What do you think?" with a small dip of his head.

She turned to glance at Lord Nam, who stared at her, open-mouthed, as if _she_ had been the one to suggest her involvement. Oh, why was he doing this to her?

"Leave her alone, _Danarius_."

Larus had grabbed Arathea's book from the table, and was idly flipping through its pages. Their smell wafted up from his turning, and Ara longed to hide behind the parchment. To be excused from the table. To be removed from Lord Nam's disapproval— in right as he was to feel so— as well as Na Vanum's teasing. She wanted Larus to leave, so that she could follow. Did he not sense her anxiety?

Or perhaps he did not think her to be the coward that she was. Not realizing she was in need of rescue. Na Vanum knew of her cowardice. He intervened when he wasn't placing her into the very situations she dreaded.

Na Vanum snapped his fingers before her nose, and she turned to him again with a stammered apology.

"I don't know, master."

He continued to smile, but his eyes gave way to dissatisfaction.

"Surely," he began in a low voice, "you can come up with something."

"_Tell these fools that we should merge with the Carvan Brothers."_

Ara's face slackened in awe when the echo of Na Vanum's voice filled her head. She shivered as she felt a coldness from within. Was the demon inside her? She felt Na Vanum all around. But, no… he couldn't have possessed her. She was not a mage and did not agree to it. So, why did she feel the ghost of his presence beneath her flesh?

"_I'm Pulling you, elf."_

Pulling her? But that was— an image flashed of that horrible scene in the bathroom; of those two men Na Vanum had Pulled inside-out—

"_Speak the words," _he growled.

"Well?" Na Vanum mused aloud. "We don't have all morning."

Arathea's nails bit into her palms as she clenched her fists.

"Perhaps," she murmured, lowering eyes to the table. Studying its grooves, Ara pushed the words out, without understanding their meaning. "Lord Nam's trading company could merge with the Carvan Brothers, master."

Larus slowly lifted his gaze from the book to study Arathea, brows pulling together in thought.

She winced as Na Vanum slapped her on the back.

"Why didn't_ I _think of that?"

Lord Nam's open mouth had widened with the suggestion, his fork suspended before him. Arathea watched its load fall back upon his plate.

"We… can't," Lord Nam seemed confused as to who he should aim his words at. He took to glancing from Arathea to the men at either side of her. "We've been at economical war for over a hundred years. It's— it's us and them."

"You and the Carvans are the two biggest and baddest forces to reckon with." Na Vanum's arm remained over the top of Arathea's chair, his side nearly touching hers. "If you two merge, no one will stand in your way. Not rival merchants, not The Hundred Pillars, not anything. The real question is: why haven't you already done it?"

"_Because you are a complete idiot," _Na Vanum's voice added in Arathea's head, and she blushed in shame. It was almost as though the thought were _hers_, what with it being spoken inside her mind.

"Well," Lord Nam slowly pondered, eyes still wide with surprise as he stared at Arathea. "I suppose it wouldn't hurt to propose the idea to them." He glanced away from with a touch of color upon his cheeks. Was he ashamed to have received the bold suggestion from an elven slave? She shrunk in her chair to have been the cause of a Lord's embarrassment.

"Your idea," Lord Nam mumbled, almost inaudibly, "was not as useless as I had expected."

Larus snorted beside her.

"_Consider that a compliment, elf."_

Arathea gazed at Lord Nam in unshielded bemusement. To think, he wasn't angry! And he wasn't staring at her with disapproval. Was that why Na Vanum made her say those things? To earn a little of Lord Nam's respect, so that him might become more comfortable with her?

Maker… Na Vanum had saved her again.

And Larus had turned his attention back to the book.

vVv

"Now, roll on your feet. Forwards, backwards. Prepare for my move. Be ready to dodge or counter. More slowly, with your breathing. That's it."

He moved his body along each breath, slowly and lightly. His heart fluttered in his chest as he watched the man's hands and prepared to counter their strike.

"Don't look at my hands," The man's finger curled to point up at his face. "Look at my eyes. They will give away my move before my hands do."

He did as he was told and focused on the man's eyes, searching for a sign in their bright green depths.

They stood, rocking on their feet, staring each other in the eyes.

For thirty minutes.

"Enough!" he finally shouted, dropping his aching arms. "I thought you were teaching me to fight!"

The man grinned.

"I need to teach you patience first. You have to be just as prepared to wait as you are to strike."

He rubbed the aching muscles in his arms, toes curling in the grass.

"Get back in your ready stance."

Glaring at the man, he raised his fists and began to sway on sore heels. The sky was growing dark. How much longer was he going to make them stand like stupid scarecrows in the field—

The man lunged forward and drove a fist into his stomach.

All air left his lungs as his knees buckled and he crumpled to the ground. He desperately tried to draw in mere teaspoons of air, but only managed to groan.

"You need to be just as ready to wait as you are to dodge and counter. With patience comes complete readiness."

A smooth and gentle voice sounded behind them.

"Dear, you sound like an old wise man," A woman teased, lowering herself to rub his back as he continued to struggle for air. "Where is your long beard and withered hands to stroke it with?"

"They're on the way," the man answered in a laugh. "I'm working on a beard now."

He raise his head to watch the man trace the edge of his jaw.

The woman snorted a laugh.

"Leto shall grow a beard before you do. Which is to say 'never'."

He blinked.

_Leto? Is that me? _

Fenris scrambled up off the grass, causing the woman to yelp in surprise. The couple stared at him warily as studied them for the first time.

Two beautiful elves before him. Both looked to be no more than a handful of years older than him.

The woman, from her knelt position, stared up at him with round eyes that glinted wisdom and love. He felt a little soothed, just by looking at them. She had long black hair, which she kept in a messy braid that spilled over her shoulder. Her skin was warmed by the sun, her bones strong and angular beneath the flesh. She looked like him.

But not so much as the man. It was like looking into a mirror, with the glare of the sun in its glass. He was lighter than the woman. His hair, a bright yellow. His eyes, a brighter green. His skin glowed as though he trapped sunlight itself beneath the flesh. He shared the same features as Fenris, with their only difference being their hues.

The man glanced over his shoulder, mumbling "What is it?" before returning eyes to Fenris. "What's wrong?"

"Are you my...?" he whispered, taking a step back. "Do I remember you?"

"Oh," the woman breathed, pressing a hand to her mouth. "He isn't dead."

Pain struck the man's face with eyes falling to Fenris's feet. The elf leaned to look at them and it was as though the man had punched him again, for all breath was pulled from his lungs. Pale hands had splintered through the earth's cracks to wrap around his ankles. His toes sank into the dirt, grass moving aside to accommodate him.

"I thought he was."

"No, it makes sense now, though, doesn't it? Oh," the woman sighed and lowered her hand, "this has turned rather sad."

His heart hammered inside his chest. The hands pulled him deeper into the ground. Fenris had to know before it was too late!

"Please!" he shouted as the grass had settled around his waist. "Are you my parents?"

The man smiled sadly.

"Yes."

"Is—" Fenris could scarcely breathe as the earth's weight pushed around him, "this a memory or a...dream?"

"Both," his father replied. "Neither."

"There you go again," his mother sighed as she pushed into a stand, "wise man."

They turned to walk away. He frantically reached toward their retreating backs.

"Wait!" he called, coughing as the dirt and grass poured into his mouth. "W—"

vVv

"—ait!"

Fenris woke with a start, hands reaching before him. A darkness surrounded him, faint light pouring through the cracks of a… tent? Where was he? His body ached in pulses all over his body. His head was pounding. He didn't care, he didn't care— because…

He remembered!

Fenris hurled himself off the bed, ignoring his body's burning protests. He needed to think! He remembered. He began to pace the tent's dark space when something stirred in a nearby corner.

vVv

"Fenris?" Emma blinked in the darkness and leaned up from her bedroll. The white haired elf was mumbling to himself and pacing the tent with hurried steps. He was awake. Emma's groggy mind slowly processed the sight before her. "Fenris?" He was alive. "Fenris," she whispered, tears filling her eyes.

He flashed a palm out to her, fingers spread and shaking.

"Shut up," Fenris hurriedly spoke. "That's… not who I am. I'm—" The hand disappeared into his hair as he continued to pace the tent. "No, I'm…"

vVv

No! No, he knew, he knew. He knew who he was! His life before the lyrium stole it from him. There was a woman. She was beautiful.

Who was she?

His mother? No… sister.

She was young. Sister.

He had a sister? Or perhaps, she had been his lover. No, hadn't they looked alike?

And the man… that was his father. Yes.

No?

vVv

"No," he whispered with a pain that stole Emma's breath. She hurried from the bedroll to trail his frantic steps. "No, no, no," he kept repeating beneath a quaking fist. "I remember."

"Fenris," Emma murmured, reaching for his hand. She managed to grab his fingers, but he snatched them from her hold.

"Not Fenris. Someone else."

A coldness settled in the pit of Emma's stomach and she shivered as her eyes followed his pace.

"You're scaring me. What is happen—"

"Please," he held his hand out again. "Please, I can't think when you're talking. I need to remember. I almost remember."

vVv

There was a field, he had been fighting the man. His enemy? Yes, the man had punched him. The woman was his accomplice. Her name was Meto? They buried him in the ground.

No, no, no!

That wasn't it at all.

There was love in that field. But why?

Who?

It was all slipping away! The sights were pouring out his eyes. Emma was pulling at his arm, pulling away the memories he had finally managed to grasp! Maker.

vVv

Fenris crumpled to his knees. Emma fell with him and watched in horror as his body began to quake with quiet sobs. He was whispering fragmented phrases that made no sense to her ears. His wounds had opened beneath their bandages and blood began to seep along his chest and back. Emma reached for his arm again, eyes burning.

When her fingertips brushed his flesh, he turned abruptly to her with a frightened fury. The outside firelight illuminated the tears that spilled over his cheeks.

"Lost," he whispered. "Again."

She had never seen a face more wrought with misery.

Emma stared up at him, barely able to speak.

"You've lost what?"

Fenris was gazing through her, eyes searching for something in the darkness.

vVv

Recovered only to disappear. Why?

vVv

_(Leto Remembers)_

_Sigur Ros - All Alright_

_Fretting Guest: Fret no more, because Fenris is alive! Thanron is undoubtedly a mage now, but a very new and uncertain one. Something that comes from his Father's side._

_ElyssaCousland: Bullet dodged! Good thing I included that prologue haha Thanron is quite confused, indeed. There are bonuses to dying in your lover's arms. Not something Fenris had pictured when he considered his death in Na Vanum's clutches. _

_datajana: He's escaped death, only to fall into more despair. Poor Fenris! This just hasn't been a good day for him. Glad you're happy for updates!_

_Zakuromidna: Thank you! _You're _awesome._

_Freckles: What a compliment for one's story updates to be compared to Christmas! My summer has been busy already and very good! I hope you're also having fun._

_Lady Velvet C. Peterson: The dramatics continue in this chapter! Thank _you _for reading my story this far._

_Casmir1080: I wish I could just write nonstop. I have lots of fun and diabolical ideas in store for my characters. Involving Na Vanum and Ara, Na Vanum and Fenris/Emma, Danarius and Emma, Danarius and Fenris. ETC ETC FUN. I'll make certain to update as often as I am able._

_Scarliatta: My Fenris can't hold a candle to the real thing. But thank you very much for saying so. I hope I haven't deviated too much from his true nature. Sorry to make you wait! But I'm not sorry for teasin' you. _

_ .125: I did for a while there, but I'm had some time to write lately. I'm doing well, hope you are too :)_


	75. Imraddon

vVv

Thanron pulled his tunic overhead, leaned over the basin, and splashed water against his face. The water became murkier and murkier as he scrubbed at his hair and shoulders, shuddering when breezes slid their cold tongues along his wet skin. By the time Thanron was done, he could no longer see his reflection. He felt like a weight was lifted from his skin. It helped a bit to ease the burden in his chest.

He turned and tilted the basin upward so Imraddon could see its brown contents.

"Want a wash?" he grinned.

vVv

Thanron's eyes were dark, with shadows underneath. It was unsettling to watch the smile form. A gross imitation of his aloof grin. He had been acting strangely distant toward him since the battle. Imraddon attempted to engage him in… _anything_, but Thanron would toss him that unnerving smile that did not reach his eyes before brushing off his presence.

Thanron was angry with him. Or disgruntled by something he did. And Imraddon had no idea why this time.

vVv

From his bedroll, Imraddon watched the dirty water slosh upon the ground with distaste.

"I have already washed, but thank you for the offer."

Thanron chuckled to himself, and yanked the basin up into his arms to dump outside their tent.

Imraddon's voice called from the inside, "I hope you did not get any of that filthy water on your wound."

Thanron fixed him a weary glare as he reentered with the empty basin. The git could be such a worrywart. Gray eyes dropped to his waist, wrapped up in grungy lengths of bandages. "Come," Imraddon commanded with a motioning hand. He then reached for his bag, dropping it into his lap. "I will change them."

Thanron's eyes followed his hands as they rummaged through the bag.

"Nah, I'll do it," his lips lifted in a half smile. "You hate blood, remember?"

Imraddon's hands stilled their searching. Thanron swiped a tongue across his teeth.

"Least, that's what you led me to believe."

vVv

Ah.

vVv

The elf resumed his task as he pulled a clean roll of bandages and salve from the bag's depths. "I do hate blood," Imraddon spoke evenly, "It makes me want to vomit."

Thanron cocked his head to the side, eyes searching for lies between Imraddon's teeth.

"How does a man who hates blood get to be a swordsman on that copper arsehole's level?" Imraddon's eyes dropped to Thanron's wound again.

His voice was tired around the words "Come here."

Thanron stared at him a long moment before shrugging and stepping to drop himself upon the elf's bedroll. He grunted in pain as he arse met the cushion, however. He kept forgetting the damned cut.

Imraddon scolded him under his breath as he began to peel away the grimy bandage.

Watching the long fingers move about his side, Thanron spoke in a low voice.

"You know, I could understand your hidden talent as an archer with a damn near inhuman range, but…close combat?" Imraddon's eyes flitted up to his before dropping back down. Thanron felt something cold twist about in his gut. What was the oaf hiding? He hated to think that he didn't know something so big about his friend. "That was real unexpected. You seemed right at home, chopping people's heads off—"

Thanron stopped at the pain in Imraddon's face. His voice shook as he held Thanron's gaze beneath a furrowed brow,

"I am not at all comfortable with killing people, Thanron."

Such misery in his voice… Thanron lowered his bewildered attention to Imraddon's hands and flushed, a small sigh on his lips.

"Yeah, that was too far," He raised his chin to stare into storm-brewin' eyes. "I'm sorry."

Imraddon gazed at him a breath before returning focus to his work around a shrug of dismissal. He peeled away the last of the bandage in time for Thanron to gently push his hands away.

"But I'm not done talkin' about it," he persisted carefully. "I want to know why you're so good at something so…" As he struggled for words, Thanron's mind flashed with the image of Imraddon cutting down a frightened boy, then shifted to an image of the same man frosting the edges of a lemon cake, "unlike you. Especially, something like that."

The elf lowered eyes to stare into his lap, fingers fumbling with the bottle of salve. He began to speak, "I was a…", Thanron swallowed with anticipation as Imraddon hesitated around the mouthful.

Seeming to choose different words during a lapse of silence, Imraddon began anew.

"You know I was a guard," he began quietly.

Thanron nodded once.

"I was conditioned to fight since birth. Pulled from my mother's womb with a sword extended to my right hand, and a bow to my left."

vVv

Imraddon choked on a breath as searing pain spread across his back, followed by the warmth of blood.

"Again!" bellowed Mabara, withdrawing the whip in preparation to strike, "If you miss, you can forget about that meal!"

His stomach clenched painfully as he nearly buckled at the thought. It had already been far too long since he last ate, and the constant exertion that Mabara forced was taking its toll on his tired limbs. If he missed this shot…

Imraddon inhaled a deep breath to steady his faltering heart while digging his toes into the dirt. He drew back the arrow and lined up his target, squeezing one eye shut.

The boy was howling with fear. His name was Lan and he trembled, 150 feet away. If only he would keep still! Imraddon paled as the ground about the boy's feet became soiled with his fright. Quickly, lest he faint before his chance.

His fingers released the arrow around a sigh, and glanced away before he could watch it pierce his friend. Biting his lip until it bled, he waited for Mabara's assessment.

"Good," she finally barked. "You managed to pierce his heart," Imraddon listened to her nearing footsteps and swallowed the sobs that rose in his throat.

Lan had made him laugh.

"You will have your meal."

He heard the strain of Mabara's whip as she stretched it between her hands.

"And you will receive twenty lashes for looking away from the kill."

vVv

Imraddon paused, voice devoid of emotion as he watched an ant crawl between them with distant eyes.

"Lan missed too much," he explained. "When you missed too much, you became the next target for the more skilled to," Imraddon slowly leaned to crush the ant beneath his thumb, "practice on."

Thanron stared at the elf's hand as he drew it back into his lap.

"One day, it was decided that I was ready to be bought. Which," Imraddon smiled bitterly, "as I was told, was worthy of praise. Most of the others were ready to be bought, no earlier than thirteen. I was very young, with promise."

His eyes unclouded a little as he re-locked his gaze with Thanron's.

"And it just so happened that Danarius was looking for a young warrior to condition."

vVv

His new master stared at him from across the carriage, studying his limbs with a faint smile. Imraddon flinched when blue eyes raised to his.

"You are six? he questioned Imraddon in his familiar tongue. "Seven?"

He believed so. People referred to his age as "somewhere around six, seven or eight".

Imraddon nodded and remembered to murmur a "Yes, master."

His master dipped a hand inside his robes and rummaged around. Disgust lined his belly as Imraddon imagined what he would be pulling out of them. So soon. They had not even made it to his master's estate.

At least he was not filthy. He looked very clean and Imraddon could smell the pleasant spices that rolled off his skin from where he sat. Spring flowers blooming at the edge of a brook. His hair was dark and lined with silver strands. He carried himself with grace and confidence.

But Imraddon did not want to do anything like that with him.

A touch of confusion in his voice, "What is that face for?" his master frowned. "Are you motion sick?"

Imraddon shook his head, brows pulling together as his master pulled a small pouch from silken folds. The elf did little to contain his sigh of relief. And this caused Danarius's frown to deepen.

"What did you think I...?" his master slowly began to ask before realization smoothed his brow. His master's cheeks flushed with embarrassment as he dropped the pouch into Imraddon's lap.

He turned over the cloth pouch with curious fingers, prying it open. Brown circles were clumped together in its depths. Imraddon nearly dropped it in surprise. Why would he give Imraddon rabbit poop? Was it a human custom? He paled as he stared into the pouch and prayed that his master would not require him to eat it.

"Eat it," his master insisted with a small smile of encouragement.

Imraddon grimaced as his fear became reality.

"What is it?"

He shook his head. Imraddon knew he would have to eat it or suffer the consequences. A mouthful of rabbit poop was preferred to a mouthful of his own blood from a beating.

Imraddon whispered his gratitude as he pinched one between his fingers. Holding his breath, the elf popped it into his mouth and chewed quickly. Surprise slackened his features.

He finished the entire pouch, amazed to find that rabbit poop was quite delicious. Sweet, smooth, and rich, with a surprisingly pleasant flavor. With reddened ears, Imraddon shared this with his master, who then exploded with a laughter that lasted the entire ride to his estate.

vVv

Thanron was smiling faintly at the image of Imraddon's ignorance of chocolate. Danarius seemed to have been nice enough. Perhaps his sad story would take a pleasant turn from this point.

"I was shocked to find how entirely unaggressive Danarius was. Though he was not painstakingly kind, he certainly was not unkind in any respect. He simply read towers of letters, bent over books, and scribbled onto parchment. Danarius was almost a ghost, trailing from his study to his chambers and back again. He paid no attention to me or anyone else. With exception to Fenris and—"

Imraddon stopped himself.

He had almost said it.

_With exception to Fenris and your mother._

Thanron waited patiently for him to continue.

"...to Fenris and his guests," Imraddon finished with a quick glance. He finally uncorked the salve and dipped a finger inside. The elf sucked in a sharp breath as Imraddon's finger brushed his side.

When Imraddon did not continue, Thanron pressed with a strained "Then what? That doesn't explain how you went from guard to cook." as the salve was spread across his wound.

Brow furrowing, Imraddon murmured,

"Why do you want to know?"

Thanron grunted "'Cause," as Imraddon pressed a new layer into his side. Once it was evenly smeared against the wound, Imraddon rinsed his hands off in a bowl of hot water. "Don't like not knowin', that's all," Thanron watched his blood travel in thin ribbons down Imraddon's fingers. "Thought I knew everything about you and then you go and fight like a demon just after making everyone breakfast." Knocking Imraddon's leg with his knee, he gruffly asked, "You got a problem tellin' me?"

Imraddon flicked a sharp glance at him,

"It sounds as though I am not permitted to have a problem with telling you." He dried his hands off with a clean towel, slowing the movement as he thought. "I do not," Imraddon finally continued softly, "wish to tell you any more."

The younger elf stared a long moment before a smirk lifted one corner of his mouth.

"Kiss you if you do."

Imraddon blinked before shifting into a glare.

"Do not toy with me," he bit. "It is cruel to dangle affection before the nose of someone who truly cares." He dropped the towel into his lap and began to untie the fresh bandages. "Mind numbing," muttered Imraddon, "your mixed signals."

"I'm not signaling anything," Thanron shot back. "I wanna know about this and you're beating the bush to a pulp. Just tell me! Why do you hate blood? Why aren't you a guard anymore when you're so good at fighting?"

Imraddon shook his head and pointed his gaze to the bandages that he clenched in a fist.

"Please, Imraddon. Don't keep secrets from me."

"I…" The elf's shoulders quaked as he pressed his nails into his palms. "There is no secret to it. I just hate…," he heated with shame as tears filled his eyes, "to remember it."

Thanron was silent.

They sat for a long time, listening to the other's breath— waiting for one of them to finally give up.

After the lapse of an eternity, air pushed past Imraddon's lips in a shaking sigh as he accepted defeat.

"I was thrown into years of training and fighting to become "Fenris". Danarius was looking for an elf who was strong enough to bear the bonds of lyrium. To become Danarius's "little wolf" and be stuffed with a pint of lyrium in order to become the perfect warrior and keep the darkness from his gaze. We did not know that… at the time. All we knew was to cut our friends down like insects and watch the light leave their eyes— lest they do the same to us first.

vVv

"_Please!"_

Murna whimpered into her hand, thick gobs of blood oozing between her fingers. She squeezed her eyes shut as Imraddon neared.

He felt the room's piteous gaze boring into his back as he bent to collect Murna's thin robes in his fist. If only they were allowed weapons, Imraddon would not need to cause her so much fear and suffering. A quick stab to the heart and she would be free to join the Maker.

Instead, the boy was forced to pull back his free fist and bring it hard against her nose. A chilling crunch sounded beneath his knuckles as blood spewed from her nose. She moaned helplessly, fingers reaching to wrap around the hand that held her in place. _Faint, _he silently begged her. _Die._

"_Pleah—" _Murna garbled through a persistent choking, _"Hurr—y, Im… ra."_

Imraddon flinched, eyes widening with horror.

He became undone, raining fists with all his might. _Hurry, hurry, I must hurry_, his mind chanted. Murna's face became a collapsed mess of blood and splintered bone, sockets empty of their bright and happy eyes. End it. End it.

"That's enough."

Imraddon continued to bludgeon the corpse beneath him, a sickening squelching sound echoing the throughout the room.

"Enough!"

Hands wrapped around his arms and wrenched him from the girl.

He stared down at his fingers.

They were covered in blood.

Clumps of brain.

Strands of black hair.

Blood.

Murna would always hum while she worked.

Pleasant melodies as her fingers plucked weeds from the ground.

He could still hear her song.

It had made him smile.

Murna.

Murna.

He could still hear her.

Imraddon was pulled into someone's arms… who murmured words he couldn't hear around the torrents of vomit sobs that pushed past his lips.

vVv

"Imraddon…" Thanron whispered as his stomach twisted. "You don't need to…I'm sorry…"

The elf didn't seem to hear him.

"It became a true competition when Danarius announced the after effects of lyrium. We would be nearly invincible, we would be given a place at his side, free from monotonous labor, we would unshackle two slaves of our choosing, and we would forget everything that transpired to become his Fenris. These effects changed everyone. I competed to forget. I wanted so badly to forget. I hate blood because I drained it from children. Children who played with me and called me a friend. When I smell it or see it, I am reminded of their smiles— and then the emptiness in their eyes when I snatched their lives away. It makes me sick. I wanted to forget all of it."

"And I almost got the chance to. It was me and Leto in the final battle. I fought well. But in the end, he wanted it more. He fought like he did not care if he lived or died. He did not dodge my attacks, so that he could counter and strike faster. It was truly amazing. I was on the floor after ten minutes, clinging to a single thread of life. I watched his hand come down one more time— to end me— but Danarius grabbed it in the last fraction of a second. He told me I had won second place. I had never seen him lose composure… but he was weeping as he spoke the words.

"Second place meant that I was free."

A small quiet.

"What?" Thanron breathed.

"I wanted to stay with you," confessed Imraddon.

The younger elf's lips peeled open around words he could not push out.

vVv

"Imraddon…"

Tarma placed a hand upon the boy's, who stared without seeing at the slabs of bread and cheese that rested upon the table before him.

"You need to eat, child."

He nodded once, and the small movement was enough to make his head spin. A flurry of images in his mind— a heap of mangled limbs and empty gazes. Death. Blood. Constantly flashing before his eyes.

Tarma's voice was muffled and distant, as if it came to him from above the blood sea his mind was drowning him in. He could not understand.

"Thank you, Tarma," he spoke in Arcanum, attempting a smile that only translated to a twitch about his lips. "I will eat."

He could barely concentrate enough to speak through the persistent screams of his dead friends. They begged him to stop, begged him to hurry, begged him to end their suffering.

_Hands reached to pull him from the cliff's edge… _

Imraddon blinked as a force met him hard in the back.

"What the hell's your deal, blondie?"

He turned to find Thanron, who glared fiercely through dark bangs that needed a trimming, thin arms folded across his chest. As always, his spirit was filled to the brink. Too much to contain in his small, nine-year-old body, that it spilled out in loud remarks.

Cute.

"You gonna eat your damn cheese like a big boy?" Thanron raised his chin and stared beneath a furrowed brow. His voice dropped low in threat, "Or am I gonna have to shove it down your stupid throat?"

A surprised breath left Imraddon's lips. The distant cousin of a laugh. Imraddon was surprised to hear the sound. How did Thanron manage to pull such sounds from him?

The screams dulled inside Imraddon's head, the gory images growing fuzzy.

"I should spank you," he murmured. "For using such language."

Thanron flinched, arms unfolding to shield his bottom.

"I'd kick your teeth in if you tried!"

Imraddon breathed in that strange way again. Another almost laugh. The raven haired boy blurred before him as Imraddon's lips pulled at their corners again. This time, he managed a wince of a smile.

"Oi…" Imraddon could barely see the boy's glare of confusion. "Why're you cryin'? You baby— I was only kiddin'!"

vVv

"I wanted to be near the little boy who made me laugh, even after the blood. Your face helped to muddle the horrible images. You were a beacon of hope, that I could escape their screams. An extended arm to pull me out of the blood sea that I was drowning in. I could not leave, even though I had been freed. Without you, I feared I would lose myself to the memories. I begged Danarius to let me stay. I would be a farm hand, I would clean, I would serve guests, I would offer my body, so long as I could stay."

vVv

Danarius's lips parted, alarmed eyes on the elf standing across his desk.

"Did you just say…?" he began in a murmur. "You couldn't have possibly said you did not wish to be free."

His hand was frozen around the parchment, quill still poised between fingers.

"Please, master," Hands behind his back, Imraddon pinched the skin of his palm to prevent the tears that threateningly pricked his eyes. "Please, allow me to remain here."

Danarius shook his head, brows pulling together in confusion.

"No," he answered plainly. "Don't you understand? I am freeing you. You don't have to be a slave to anyone anymore." Danarius promptly shook the parchment, tapping its surface with his quill. "This grants you access to the entire world. You want this. Every slave does." He laid the parchment onto the table and snorted to himself, "What nonsense." Scratching angrily upon the parchment with his quill, Danarius muttered about ingratitude and foolishness. "There," he grunted, dropping the quill to his desk. "It is done. We will go to Minrathous within the week to make it official."

Imraddon shook his head.

"No, we will not, master."

Danarius stared.

He raised his voice, "Are you insane, elf? I am giving you— quite literally— the opportunity of a lifetime. The others would kill you for this chance."

"They are hardly fit to try," Imraddon murmured. "As you already commanded me to kill them all. They are dead."

Wincing at the words, Danarius idly pinched the quill feather.

"For my prize, I will stay."

Danarius lowered his head to stare at the parchment.

The elf's heart hammered in his chest as he waited for the magister's response, praying all the while to anyone who was listening.

"At the very least…" he spoke in a low voice, "work in the kitchens or… something. Something halfway bearable."

Imraddon's brain was slow to process what he was hearing. His feet remained planted in place, fingers still pinching his palm behind his back. It was only until Danarius rose from his chair and crossed the study that Imraddon roused from his daze. His lower lip trembled before tears finally filled his eyes. He stifled a sob as he watched Danarius drop the parchment into the hearth fire.

"Thank you," Imraddon whispered through his tears. "Thank you, master."

Danarius stared at the browning parchment, its edges curling into ash as flames licked Imraddon's freedom.

"As you like. Silly elf."

vVv

"How did I not…" Thanron's fingers clenched into fists, "know? That all this was…"

Imraddon did not answer. It was forbidden to.

Thanron did not know of the tournament because Danarius sheltered him from it. Nulam would have never forgiven him if the magister had involved their son in that mess.

"Is that how Rissthil died?" Thanron whispered. "They told me he was killed during guard duty… by highwaymen outside the castle. Did he die in the tournament?"

Imraddon did not answer.

vVv

"Aw, Riss. That…that's…did they make…" Thanron's mouth was dry and words lost their way out. "Did you have to— were you the one to have to…kill Rissthil?"

Tears began to well in his eyes.

"Riss," he whispered, leaning to meet Imraddon's gaze. "_You _had to kill him, Imra?" The elf glanced away and Thanron blew out a gust of air. It felt like he had been punched in the gut. "They made that piece of shit—weakling… fight _you_? How could he have won? They sent him like a pig… to the slaughter."

Thanron bent his head and watched tears splash his folded legs with wide eyes.

"Fuck," he sighed. "Riss."

vVv

"_I think you're cool," Rissthil whispered shakily. "I think you're cool and I love you."_

vVv

Thanron slammed a fist against his leg.

"Fuck!"

Imraddon fell into a silence as tears continued to course in steady streams down his cheeks. He couldn't control the quaking of his body, nor could he draw in a proper breath through his teeth. Imraddon sobbed, leaning into the hand that he used to cover his face.

He always hated to remember them.

Their faces, so young and shining with hope, crushed beneath his fist. One after the other. The hours he had spent, bent over a basin, scrubbing his hands between stifled screams. The blood, the acrid scent of blood that caused him to gag. The blood of his dear friends. He mourned without feeling the right to mourn.

Did Thanron hate him now? Did he fear him? To know that he murdered children for his own selfish gain— to forget the very act itself. Imraddon moaned broken apologies in a steady stream.

"_I am sorry,_" Imraddon sobbed, pulling his tunic against his lips to muffle the sound. _"I am sorry. I was— I did not—"_

"Shut the fuck up."

Imraddon winced at the rough command, and held his breath as he lifted his gaze.

The elf's stare was dark beneath black locks, brows pulled together in anger. His teeth punctured his lower lip and blood beaded beneath the white. Imraddon let out the breath he had been holding upon seeing the tears that lined his cheeks.

"Thanron," he whispered. "I—"

With a low growl, Thanron leaned to grip the back of Imraddon's head. Fingers locked in a fistful of his hair, he pulled Imraddon forward and forced his brow to rest upon his neck.

Imraddon blinked, limbs frozen.

Fresh tears lined his eyes.

"Thanron—"

"Didn't you hear me?" Thanron's voice shook, stifled by Imraddon's hair. "Shut up, you've said enough. I don't wanna hear your stupid voice anymore. You," Thanron's other arm reached to wrap around Imraddon's back. "You don't have to hide it from me anymore."

Imraddon's heart ached mercilessly inside his chest. He lifted quaking arms to wind around Thanron's waist, leaning into his embrace.

"I am sorry," he murmured weakly.

The arms tightened around Imraddon's body.

"You did nothing to say sorry for, you—"

Thanron's voice broke.

"_Idiot_."

vVv

They held each other until Imraddon's past bore no more tears to shed. The elf had finally passed out in Thanron's lap, tears soaked into his trousers. His long arms were still wrapped loosely around his waist.

Thanron liked them there.

Just for now.

His heart was throbbing painfully.

"Imra," Thanron whispered, hands balled into fists where they rested upon Imraddon's back. "You think you know a guy...and then..."

All this time… Thanron was his crutch and he didn't even know it. Every damned smile that stretched Imraddon's face was because… Thanron had been beside him.

_He chose slavery to be with Thanron._

"How am I supposed to… take that?"

His heart clenched in answer.

Thanron raised his hand and splayed fingers to watch them tremble.

Rage.

Hot, pounding, bloodthirsty rage.

That Imraddon was forced to experience such horror.

"Imra," Thanron murmured, dipping his shaking fingers into Imraddon's locks.

His blood was boiling, the familiar tickle of warmth reigniting in his stomach. Fire that burned him from the inside.

vVv

_Murna Used To Hum_

_(Long, Long Time Ago - Javier Navarrete)_

This is the melody that haunts Imraddon.

For those of you who aren't fans of Imraddon and Thanron — don't hate me, please. I just wanted to address Imraddon's past and link to Thanron in full. I thought now was the right time. I'll have a chapter up within the next 2-3 days at the latest. Who knows? Maybe it'll be tonight. Depends on how much my brain is willing to cooperate.

So? What do you think about this chapter? I'm curious.

_Lady Velvet C. Peterson: Aw, thank you very much! _

_Vicki: Gone Girl is amazing. I love their twisted relationship. I am not sorry to leave you in suspense and I'm super happy you experience it. Thank you so much for your support!_

_datajana: And this chapter, we found out Imraddon also has a very tragic past. Give your teddy another cuddle._

_NIGHTINGAL3: Yeah, chapter 59 is pretty sad. Thanks so much for reading. You guys are the reason I write, so I really appreciate the support. _

_MirandaBasilisk: Not everyone will have a happy ending. And it's my mission to make you bite your nails in anticipation of that. I'm glad you're attached enough to Arathea to care for her happiness :)_


	76. Did I wake you?

vVv

The elf had not spoken to her that day.

As they continued across the last stretch of land that lay between that awful battlefield and Minrathous, Fenris did not speak one word to her. He only moved her with firm, but gentle hands. Rather than share their morning routine of debate regarding Emma's carriage, the elf simply placed her inside of it. Emerald eyes trailed her from head to toe every so often, but it was distant and practiced. A check to see that everything was in order. Emma's head still rested between her shoulders and that.

It seemed as though they were playing tug of war in reverse. Emma, trying to shove away her strange, forced feelings of fear and hatred for the elf. And Fenris, fighting a horrific battle with Danarius and himself inside his head. Through this, each tried to better understand the other. Because, undeniably, they cared.

It was hard.

Even when Emma and Fenris had been on better terms, he never spoke much of his past. She wanted to know. She wanted to help him. Fenris continued to be patient through Emma's ongoing struggle since the Final Ritual. Even despite her coldness toward him. Emma wanted to provide him with the same support.

But Fenris also did not prod Emma to open her heart to him. She knew the elf would only shut her out completely if she pressed him to share his past. Tread lightly, she reminded herself with every exchange. Smile, cooperate, and tread lightly.

The night had begun to prove much more difficult than the day. They weren't separated by the walls of Emma's carriage, they lay only a few feet apart.

Now, she was focusing on slow breaths while she watched the elf beneath a curtain of hair that tickled her nose.

Thirty minutes earlier, she had hurriedly slipped inside the tent as soon as it was pitched, knowing that Fenris would be discussing night watches and perimeter scans with Krayg. Laying out on her bedroll, Emma gnawed on the skin surrounding her fingernails and conjured conversations in her head. How to prod without actually prodding... Emma rose to a sitting position, frowning in effort at the tent wall.

"_Fenris"_, she would lightly begin, _"are you excited to be done with this voyage?"_

He might respond with either _"Mm" _or _"I am not excited to return to my master."_

And then perhaps she could say, _"Is this your first voyage without him?" _Keeping

nonchalant and completely non-prying, of course.

If he said _"No," _she would inquire about his travels. And if he _"Mm"'_d or replied _"Yes,"_

that would be very strange.

"_You mean you've _never _been without Danarius?"_

"_Not that I can remember."_

From there on, it would be up to what Fenris wanted to share with her. Emma would let the elf know that if he wanted to unload a little of his cumbersome thoughts, she was entirely willing to listen. Perhaps they would pertain to his lack of memory. He could lean on her a little again.

Truth be told, Fenris had frightened her.

Emma had seen him upset. Angry upset, sad upset, moody upset.

But every instant of the elf's emotional distress paled in comparison to last night. Last night, Emma witnessed his true despair.

Nothing she said would reach him. The elf had wrapped arms around himself, stuck inside his mind as he muttered nonsensical phrases between quaking breaths. He had been trying with every inch of his body to remember something. Fenris seemed to brush it with his fingertips, face igniting with distant recognition. But then his eyes would twist in agony as he failed to grasp it.

The elf's voice broke through her thoughts from just outside the tent,

"The east line was shadowed strangely."

Emma hurriedly leaned to grip the sheets, pulling them to her chest as she sprawled out on her bedroll.

"Scouts just returned," a guard answered wearily. "Rocks. Said it's clear."

Turning on her side, Emma shook her head until locks fell to obscure her face. She peered at the tent's entrance between the small gaps between hair, and squinted hard for good measure.

"Send another round in two hours. I thought I saw movement."

"Right, I'll let Krayg know. Oh, before I forget, he wanted to pass on that..."

vVv

The elf's tired eyes drifted from the guard's rambling mouth to the tent. He wanted to go inside. The day had been trying and he was ready to face the night's final obstacle.

He knew an onslaught of mental pushing was awaiting beyond the tent flaps.

The human would want to know, in detail, what caused him so much pain last night. Fenris had spent the entire day rolling responses to her questions on his tongue. Avoidance answers, direct answers, Fenris considered them all. He had decided on straights answers without detail. Not that he had any details to give, as he couldn't remember them.

The almost memories had become more and more muddled over the course of the day. Throughout the morning, Fenris had still been attempting his latch onto fragments, but eventually they had faded away completely. Now, the elf was finding it difficult to remember that there had been a dream about his previous life, at all. And it was strange to reflect on how upset it had made him. Perhaps it was groggy confusion. Or, it was possible that Fenris had a dream about a dream in which he remembered his life. And then, perhaps there had been no dream at all.

It could have been a deep misinterpretation of his own mind.

He had almost died, after all.

In any case, he was ready to leave the prying eyes around him. Everyone had heard his cries the previous night—apparently, he had not been very quiet about it. Elves and guards alike had treated him more gently, carefully, like he was a rune that could explode any moment. It was humiliating.

vVv

Emma forced her breathing to slow, attempting to loosen her limbs with a small shake— seconds before the tent flaps wAere spread apart and Fenris stepped into view. Though it was childish, she wanted to observe him a bit before opening their rehearsed conversation.

The elf seemed to deflate upon the tent's closing, joints unlocking as he meandered to his side of the tent with lazy strides. He had been putting on airs all day, commanding the guards as though his mind hadn't suffered a devastating blow the previous night. Now, Emma surmised, he could finally let go. And upon a single glance at Emma, who appeared unconscious, the elf seemed relieved. No, Fenris seemed even a touch happy.

The corners of his mouth lifted in the semblance of a smile. Perhaps he had been dreading their impending discussion. Perhaps she shouldn't attempt one at all. Emma concluded that she would not pretend to wake up, after all.

vVv

Who did she think she was fooling?

He could hear her strained breaths from across the tent, so focused on even timing that it was humorously unrealistic. Even her limbs, sprawled out around her in an effort to appear relaxed…Fenris had to suppress a chuckle upon the sight. Emma was a neat sleeper with arms always tucked beneath her. She looked ridiculous with arms and legs dangled over the sides of her bedroll. Paired with laying on her side, it seemed rather uncomfortable.

And that hair… conveniently masking her face so that she could watch him. Fenris was forced to glance away before his laughter alerted the human to her failed attempts.

Emma was trying to give him room to think and breathe. Deciding whether or not to question him through careful observation. Fenris wondered if she had deemed him stable enough to withstand her onslaught. Judging by her continued hesitation, the elf did not meet her standards.

Now, he was going to have to pretend to wake Emma from her pretend slumber so that she could make herself more comfortable. And how sinfully cute was that? It made him want to pretend rouse her with a real kiss.

He already felt a bit better. Just like that.

Such was her effect on him. She caused him immediate pain or immediate satisfaction and nothing in between.

vVv

Yanwen wheezed as Elen attempted to lick the mead froth from her upper lip. Trouble was, it's damn hard to reach a tongue to your lip between laughs. Elen groaned in annoyance as her lips stretched into a smile again and again.

"Dammit!" she finally cried. Elen was about to swipe the froth with a thumb when Mal snatched her wrist.

Leaning close, he cupped the sides of Elen's face in both hands and swiped his tongue to collect the froth. Yanwen wrinkled her nose with disgust as Elen's face heated around a startled gasp. The man was shameless. When Mal dipped his tongue inside the elf's mouth, smirking as she squeaked, Yanwen decided it was high time to leave.

She grumbled the usual, "I liked you guys better before you coupled," in a goodnight before crawling out of the tent.

Her head was pleasantly buzzing from the mead that sidled through her veins. Slowing her thoughts, easing the tension that always drew her brows together. It was a nice change of mood and she welcomed it with open arms.

She would take a nice quick plunge in the nearby river. Scrub away at the blood that still remained beneath her fingernails. The air was a bit warmer on this night. Or maybe it was just the mead heating her from the inside. Either way, Yanwen wandered behind the thin span of trees, following the sound of babbling water.

It was nice to remove herself from the others. She tended to enjoy isolation with the exception to Elen and Mal. And humans, seemingly nice as many of the guards were, put her on edge.

Yanwen couldn't help but reflect that even the brightest of smiles were forced— cordial words, practiced and strained. These people were escorting slaves to Minrathous. Their smiles were of little comfort to her. How could people forge a believable kindness toward those they forced to clean their homes? Underneath each and every one of their "good morning"'s and "sleep well?"'s was the same disdain every human harbored toward elves in Tevinter. They only hid their discomfort to make it less awkward during the journey. And because Mistress Emma was a true friend to elves.

As soon as they reached Minrathous, pleasant smiles would turn to glares of contempt. Yanwen knew.

There was only one guard who didn't fabricate kind feelings toward the elves. That copper sore, the most detestable of them all. But also the least insincere.

Yanwen reached the river's edge, removing her clothes with slow fingers as she watched the moon's morphed reflection. Smooth rock's gleamed beneath the clear water. They would feel nice beneath her feet, and help to massage the aches of travel.

The elf shivered as cold brushed her skin, leaning to step out of her undergarments. Drawing a bracing breath between her teeth, she stepped carefully into the river. It was freezing cold. Not unpleasant, however. Her flesh tingled as she waded further into the river. Its deepest parts reached just over her hips.

Arching her back, she dipped her hair into the water, and set to untangling its many knots.

A sudden tearing sound froze Yanwen's fingers around her locks. She sunk into the water and peered sharply into the trees. Moonlight struck a glint of light upon crimson. Wild hair that danced like flames in the chill breeze. Yanwen nearly groaned with disbelieving horror.

Krayg was sat against a tree at the river's campside edge. He had trapped a length of cloth between his teeth, and was yanking hard at its end. All the while, Krayg stared at her beneath a furrowed brow.

She sucked a curse between pursed lips. Yanwen had believed she'd chosen a place further upriver than was necessary. Why did he have to be here? The elf, recovered from initial surprise, assessed what he was doing for the first time. His tunic was torn to tatters that he clenched between teeth. When he leaned forward to pinch a shred in his fingers, the moonlight shined on a redness that spanned in a long, oozing smear along his back. He had been injured in battle. Without needing to ponder it for more than a moment, Yanwen knew his stubborn pride would not have allowed him to accept help from Elen and herself. He was going to treat his own wound. And he was making a mess of a job.

Yanwen glowered, reaching hands to cup her breasts beneath the water.

"You've got nothing worth looking at, elf." Krayg tilted his chin, eyes fixed on the dark water before her. "No tits," he spoke gruffly, "Or an ass to make up for them." He reached for a bag at his feet with a grunt, dipping a hand to search through its contents. "And even if you put Andraste herself to shame, I'd fuck a dead Antivan man in the ass before I fucked you."

A small comfort, Yanwen decided, with an answering glare. She'd rather be killed by the copper sore in the sickest way before doing _that_.

"So you can stop trying to protect your virtue," Krayg finished in a glare, "No one here wants it. Clean behind those filthy knife ears and leave."

Yanwen snorted and raised her bitter gaze up to the moon, hands swiping over her arms.

"It's going to get infected," she called. "Without a doubt, the way you're going about it."

Krayg's voice was a growl, scraping with scorn.

"I didn't ask you."

"Yes, my filthy knife ears hear very well. Regardless, you should have Elen take a look at that before it gives you a fever. Stop being an arrogant coward."

Krayg sucked in a slow breath through his teeth and reached behind himself to brace the tree. He pushed himself to stand, staring down at her as he took slow strides into the river.

Yanwen clenched her fists beneath the water, monitoring his approach with hard eyes. He brought himself to stand just outside of arm's length before the elf, the water brushing the skin below his navel. His skin was prickling in the cold, but his glare was as hot as fire.

Though it brought a flush to her cheeks, Yanwen felt compelled to raise herself to a full stand, not wanting the human to tower over her with superiority. He was already tall enough without her shoulders underwater.

His eyes dropped to her breasts, perhaps instinctively, before raising to meet her stare.

"I've thought a lot about killing you," he finally spoke, voice low. "You, more than anyone else. And I'd like to do it now. Make it look like you drowned." Krayg raised his hand, flexing fingers as if he imagined them wrapped around Yanwen's neck while holding her under. "No one would know. Since you were foolish enough to come this far away from camp." His lips pulled in a fraction of a smile. "It seems as though the Maker has finally smiled upon me."

Yanwen swallowed a lump of fear and begged looming shivers to stifle themselves, lest the human became aware.

"I'd like to do the same," Yanwen answered cooly, "And I think I stand a fair chance with your injury. Everyone could be spared the headache of knowing you."

"Fucking bitch," Krayg barked around a sharp laugh, "you won't last ten minutes in Minrathous before someone cuts your throat. Not with that mouth."

Yanwen only smiled in reply.

The human's dark eyes narrowed as he lowered them to her shoulder. He flicked a glance to her split lip before smirking with satisfaction.

"No salves?"

Yanwen raised a brow.

"Not more than is needed. Why would I erase the proof of your incapabilities as a guard?" She flicked a tongue along her lower lip, and it stung in protest. "I want everyone to see your slips in composure. That you can't be professional."

Krayg's gaze darkened, a tangible fury buzzing in the space between them.

He reached a hand out and Yanwen couldn't help but flinch in anticipation, but the hand only laid to rest upon her shoulder. The elf glared up at him in confusion.

"What're you—_ugh!_"

The bastard had shoved against her bruise with brute force, sending shocks of pain up down Yanwen's arm and across her back. He had bruised her bruise! And it hurt worse than the first time. Before she could draw away, Krayg was gripping her face in his hands. She hissed curses in Arcanum as he pressed his thumb to her lip, reopening its wound.

As she recovered from the pain, old and new alike, Krayg had waded back to retrieve his pack. Instead of dipping into the trees as she hoped and expected, the human simply pulled out a vial and reentered the river to stand before her.

Yanwen was glowering with the hatred of a thousand enemies, using river cold fingers to soothe her swollen lip.

Krayg opened the vial and dipped two fingers inside, swirling them around as he scowled with annoyance.

With nothing spoken between them, Yanwen allowed Krayg to erase the evidence of his knocking her about. If the damned salve upon her shoulder wasn't so relieving, she would have attacked him. Yanwen would have dug fingers into the wound of his back. But rather, the elf stifled sighs beneath his touch as Krayg erased the pain he caused.

When he drew away the vial, Krayg peered into its opening.

"Empty," he muttered. "Wasted on an elf."

Yanwen rolled her shoulder as it tingled pleasantly against the salve's healing.

"You wouldn't have needed to use it all if you hadn't hit me like a damned child." The elf watched his silent fury with satisfaction.

vVv

The two returned to camp. Krayg, not long after he had watched her retreating back disappear into the trees. That insolent bitch needed to be taught a lesson. He had been telling the truth; if she kept running her mouth off like that, the elf wouldn't last long in Minrathous, at all.

He had watched the elf's dirty blood collect in the cut along her lip. Watched it sidle down like a thick syrup down her chin. Her blood gave him a new satisfaction. A deeper satisfaction— and… an unsatisfactory satisfaction. It was all he could do not to lean in and force out more from the insufferable creature.

vVv

Larus tucked a fallen lock of hair behind Arathea's ear. Drawing idle circles against her arm with a thumb, he sighed his answer.

"The power to read minds."

Arathea frowned as the ghost of Na Vanum's voice whispered in her ear. She did not like having someone inside her head. It was exhausting to be around the man, as she constantly thumbed through her every pondering, building walls before the ones she wished to keep private. Even the thought of someone as kind and gentle as Larus reading Ara's mind made her pinched with discomfort.

"Why?"

Larus shrugged one shoulder.

"As a politician, it would be very useful," He swiped his hand along her waist, brushing light fingers against her bruises. "And I would be able to protect you better if I knew what every racist fuck in Minrathous was thinking."

Arathea pressed a finger to the crease that had formed between his brows.

"We already know what they're thinking," she spoke softly. "I will be careful, I promise."

Larus nodded once, "We both will." He leaned to nuzzle his nose against hers. "What about you? What power would you want?"

The elf wrinkled her nose in thought, raising herself on elbows to stare at her feet. She waggled her toes and scoured her mind for the impossible. After a long moment, she blinked with realization.

"The power to read."

The human's chuckle tickled her ear as he kissed its point.

"That isn't a power," Larus murmured. "And you make me feel guilty," His brows drew around a pained smile, "I'm teaching you as often as I can. I promise I will set aside more time for it in Minrathous."

"Oh, no," Arathea sat up, pressing a hand to his shoulder, "I didn't mean to sound ungrateful. I'm just…" she shook her head, and remembered the newest addition to her vocabulary, "_eager_. That's all. I want to devour every book I see and taste the words on my tongue." Ara frowned at the thought. "If only I could learn that way."

Larus laughed.

"Now, there is an interesting power."

She smiled at the lazy pull of his lips. He was so perfect in every way. Whenever Ara had him to herself like this— she felt like the luckiest elf alive.

"You are beautiful," murmured Larus, reaching a hand to cup her cheek.

Arathea leaned into his touch, "I was just thinking the same thing. And that I cannot wait to have you to myself when we reach your home in Minrathous."

Larus blinked.

"_My _home? You mean Danarius's."

Ara mirrored his confusion.

"What? I thought..."

"I don't own property in Minrathous," he smiled a bit sheepishly, color touching his cheeks. "It's a little crowded for my taste. We will be staying with Danarius." Arathea watched his eyes shift from hers to the ceiling. "Neither of us like the city. He has his place by the sea, and I've mine in the mountains. Danarius bought the estate in Minrathous because it was finally unavoidable, what with all the time he will be needing to spend there."

What? Arathea was not going to live alone with Larus? She was going to… live in Na Vanum's home? How was she to even attempt avoiding advances while in his house? The elf had been naive… to think that Na Vanum would sign her off to be with Larus, and that would be that.

Larus glanced at Arathea. She must have been making a face, because he frowned with concern. "What's wrong?"

Ara shook away her chaotic thoughts.

"Nothing, it's fine," she smiled. "I'm happy I won't have to say goodbye to my friends just yet."

The healer's eyes softened and he leaned to press his lips to hers.

"You know who I miss?" Larus grinned as he leaned away.

Arathea tried to keep her smile bright.

"Who?"

"That obnoxious kid," he answered, "Thanron."

She nodded, "Me, too," lowering her head to his chest.

"I wonder what that little shit has been up to…"

What was she going to do? What if Na Vanum's harmless touches became something sinister? What if he wanted Arathea do things that would make Larus hate her if he found out? What if Emma found out, too? What would Arathea do then? The elf's heart began to beat thickly inside her chest, and she closed her eyes. Ara focused on Larus's voice and the pulling of long breaths through her nose. Calm down, silly girl.

Everything was going to be fine.

vVv

Fenris blew out the lantern, lowering it to the ground with a swipe of his face.

"Emma?"

No answer from the human was to be expected. A couple more should do the trick. He waited a moment before whispering her name in the darkness again. On the third try, she was making a point of moaning softly and shifting against her bedroll.

"Fenris?" she answered in a yawn. "What is it?"

The elf pressed his lips together. She was going a little far with this.

"I'm sorry," he murmured, "did I wake you?"

"It's alright," Emma finally brushed the hair from her eyes and stared fixedly from across the tent.

Fenris propped himself on an elbow and gazed back in wait.

"Are you," she began, hesitance fumbling with the syllables, "excited...to be done with this… trek?"

The elf frowned. He didn't understand how such a question was supposed to circle back to the other night, but Fenris decided to persist in playing along.

"I suppose I am," he replied with a small shrug, "though I do not think 'excited' is an accurate word. More so, 'relief', that you will be safe from these roads."

vVv

Emma winced. She would have to coax him a bit more.

"But you're not…" she pinched the edge of her blanket, "I am not excited to be reunited with Danarius."

Fenris raised a brow.

"You aren't? Really?"

Emma leaned up, eyes blinking with alarm, "No!"

"I mean, I…" the elf rubbed the back of his neck, "I find that difficult to believe. Given the Final Ritual… you should be looking forward to seeing him."

Emma was sputtering,

"Well— of course, I am. But that isn't me. That's the part of me that…" she shook her head, brows furrowing. This was _not _the way this conversation was supposed to go. "Are you excited to see him?" she blurted. Ugh. That did not come out right.

Fenris was staring at her in disbelief, lips slightly parted.

Dark brows pulled together as he asked, "Did you just ask me if I am excited to see Danarius?"

Emma waved her hand in dismissal and decided to shift angles.

"Have you traveled many times with Danarius?"

Fenris flinched, leaning back to glare at her.

"Where did _that _come from? What are you—"

"How about alone?" she hurried with blushing cheeks, "Have you travelled these roads alone?"

The elf only answered with a long stare that deepened Emma's humiliation. She lay back in bed with a soft groan and stared up at the tent's ceiling. Well, that was a disaster. Emma's heart was pushing all the blood to her face to punish her for this stupidity. She brought fingers to feel its heat. Fenris was probably shocked by her insensitivity. And this whole conversation had been designed and practiced to avoid such insensitivity!

"No."

Emma's fingers froze against her cheek.

The elf was answering in a gentle voice that rumbled with recovered patience.

"I have not."

She closed her eyes with relief and continued her awkward questions.

"Had you ever been without him before I came along?"

Fenris replied carefully.

"If I had, I cannot remember it—"

"Why," she hurriedly asked, "is that?"

And then the elf told her. The words both of them had been waiting to say and to hear. They filled the space like an elephant in the tent's small confines.

"I cannot remember anything before I was branded."

Emma nodded to the darkness.

"Oh."

She felt a lump forming in her throat.

"What is your first memory then?"

The elf's answer was so soft, and yet the word sliced through her heart like the sharpest knife, fresh off coals.

"Pain."

"Oh," she breathed, pinching again at her blankets. "That's…why would Danarius…?"

"The lyrium inside me weakens Na Vanum's influence. But it cannot be touched by mages. It will kill them. Non-mages can better withstand it, but only by a fraction. So, I am a vessel of his sanity, or perhaps a buffer of poison. He needs to touch me to keep himself awake."

"But…" Emma whispered, "Na Vanum was…"

"Something has happened to strengthen the demon's will," the elf's voice was grim, "I haven't yet figured it out."

"The other night," she began softly. Words could not find their way around the sadness in her throat.

"I remembered who I was," Fenris spoke slowly, words laced with uncertainty, "I think I did. I was very upset to feel it slipping away…" he sighed. "And… I can no longer remember that night very well, at all. I only remember how angry I was." Fenris paused, "Emma."

"Yes?"

"Why are you crying?"

Emma shook her head, bringing hands to cover her mouth and stifle the sobs. She turned away from him, feeling a new flush upon her cheeks. Emma had planned to comfort him, and there she was, crying and in no shape to comfort anyone. She didn't hear the elf's approach before she was pulled into his lap, arms wrapping around her waist. Just as he had done the night of the thunderstorm.

The elf's nose was buried in her neck, words warming the skin.

"Emma, don't cry."

She hands dropped to slap the sheets in frustration.

"It's too awful," she breathed. "Papa's memories were taken from him. Mine were replaced with rubbish I don't understand. And you," Emma pressed fingers to her lips, "your life was snatched away and replaced by pain. That's… too much. What is wrong with everyone? I had no idea," she whispered, "what you went through. And I have behaved so poorly." And still, Fenris held her in his arms. Emma sighed around the pain of guilt.

"Emma," the elf's voice was a low rumble. "I lied. I don't want to reach Minrathous. I don't want him to see you. I don't want to watch him touch you." His arms tightened around her. "And I don't want to watch you enjoy it."

"I won't."

Fenris shook his head against her.

"You will."

Emma shoved out of his arms and whirled to face him. The elf's eyes were wet with tears. "I won't," she whispered. "I hate him."

He only smiled sadly at that.

vVv

_ datajana: I know :( it's okay._

_ Lady Velvet C. Peterson: Well, thank you! I had a fun time linking him to the early Leto/Danarius days, and felt he fit in quite nicely. And I wanted to stress just how essential Thanron is in his life. The boy is literally his reason to live._

_almostsophie1: I'm so glad you thought it was the right move! I was nervous. It really strays from fanfiction when you do things like that, and some people don't like it. Thanks for the Thanron props — I've really tried to make him likeable. I kinda agree about rooting for Thanron/Imraddon over Fenris/Emma. Right now, there's an awkwardness between Fen/Em that makes it difficult to write. Whereas, Thanron and Imraddon come so easily. I whip their parts out fast. It's temporary, though. Fenris and Emma will find their way back to eachother in time._

_Super Sweet Guest: Thank you very much :) Characters are my favorite part of writing._

_MirandaBasilisk: Good! Glad to hear it._

_ 10: Oh, I'm over the moon that you liked that chapter. So glad I decided to include his backstory, it's getting good feedback. I might do so for Ara, Larus, and them. _

_Pondering Guest: Many of the elves know that Fenris is Leto. But it is absolutely forbidden to tell him. They don't say anything out of fear. Na Vanum/Danarius are very scary. They would find out who spoke by torturing everyone until they admitted who spilled it. Imraddon doesn't want to risk being ripped from Thanron. And besides, it is also forbidden for Thanron to know that Danarius is his father, and no one has told him that, either. _

_And also, Imraddon envies Fenris for being able to forget their past of killing children. He wouldn't want him to know, even if he was allowed to tell Fenris. It's too heavy of a burden to bear. _


	77. Oasis

vVv

It pained Arathea's neck to stare up at the city structures for so long. Everything towered high up above the cobblestones, stained glass twinkling color in the sun. People bustled in every direction, shoving against her with a complete disregard for familiarity. They wore bright, lush silks and velvets. Arathea felt as though she were lost in a sea of color, battered by its waves.

The buildings were magnificent. Imagined by artists who clearly thought nothing of boundaries, and expertly crafted by the steadiest hands. Most buildings were comprised of cut stone and carved wood to accent their frame.

But one house near the city's entrance — if you could call the giant thing something as simple as a house — was entirely made of glass. Arathea marveled at its insides as they passed, and was shocked to find its residents traipsing about inside. Her cheeks flushed to find a gray haired man flick his careful brush across an otherwise blank canvas. In his study! Larus explained that the couple who lived in the glasshouse were eccentric philosophers who believed secrets to be a plague of the mind. They practiced their beliefs quite literally.

Baffling amounts of chaos and energy in this city. The narrow streets thrummed with the many steps upon their surface. Voices melded into one chorus of sound. Smells assaulted her nose in a confused mix of acrid bodies, urine, flowers, and intoxicating meats as they were removed from their coals. People clustered, fumbling with their purses, before wooden stands of produce. Fishermen held their catches above their heads, shouting prices over all the noise. Merchants let sunlight catch upon the jewelry to draw the eye as they dangled between their fingers. Round bellied smiths bellowed their wares between clangs of hammers upon hot metal. Mages called out promises to soothe aching limbs and provide power to crush the ones who caused them. Ara's head was spinning with stimulation. Such a contrast to her master's seaside manor.

Larus would pop a finger into the elf's mouth each time it dropped open in awe. And these moments occurred in plenty.

Na Vanum led the way to his home, hands clasped behind his back as he cast eyes on nothing but the space before him. Arathea tensed each time a beggar approached him, worrying what he might do. But upon each occasion, he merely shrugged them off with a slight shake of his head and hard eyes that silenced their pleas.

The healer remained close, their arms at a constant brushing. Arathea could feel her lover's discomfort emanating from his skin. Tight muscles, darting eyes. Fingers reaching for his dagger each time a man met Ara's gaze. He seemed to think someone could attack her in stark daylight. And that worried her a little. Could something like that be anticipated without night's cloak? The answer came soon.

Elves filled the city. They trailed behind their humans with downturned eyes and ears drawn low. Most of them wore soiled rags that did nothing to protect them from the cold breezes that passed. Bare toes tread carefully over broken bottles and scattered droppings. Their masters bit commands beneath the loudness that made it too difficult for Arathea to pick out. There was a persistent fear in their eyes as each elf scurried to comply.

Na Vanum turned to call over his shoulder,

"We will need to pass through an unpleasant district," He held up a hand as Larus began to sputter his protest, "Danarius says he had checked for ways around and there are none." The magister returned his gaze ahead, but not before Ara could catch the smile upon his lips.

It was more disturbing to see the elves who did not don tattered rags. These elves thickened in number as they entered a district with red streamers all around. These elves that forced a smile on their faces when they met Na Vanum's gaze, exaggerating their gait with swaying hips. They wore nothing but strings and sheer silks that just barely obscured their private bits. Ara could see the shame behind their pointed gaze.

The sad, brown eyes of a passing elven man washed over hers. The single glance spoke volumes and caused her to shiver.

_Please… don't look._

She felt the pang of memory.

Even she had not been subjected to sashay through the streets. Or wear so humiliating a garb. Arathea believed it better to be naked than wear something like that.

Larus adjusted her hood as the wind slid it down her hair, not wanting the others to notice her ears.

It became clear why he took such pains to cover her features, with eyes peering into the city's shadows. An elven woman was jerked by the arm into an alleyway, where several men waited with toothy grins. Larus averted his eyes with a hiss and glared at the cobblestones, instead. Arathea slowed her steps to watch in horror as a burly man shoved her against the building wall. The elven woman winced as her cheek struck stone.

"Larus," whispered Ara. "We must—"

"We cannot," he answered in a tight voice, "or they will be after you next. Come."

Arathea could not tear her eyes away. They were making quick work of her robes, tearing them to shreds. What a humiliating walk home she faced, after enduring something as awful as rape in an alleyway. Larus reached to grip Ara's wrist and pull her along.

She was careful to keep her hood in place until they reached Na Vanum's estate.

Ara felt a bit tired. And sad.

Forced to remember a past life.

vVv

Thanron pulled back the tent flap a fraction, peering through its gap. His fingers curled around the fabric as he watched him. He felt like he was fixin' to blow chunks, a persistent twisting and turning in his gut. Like he'd eaten spoiled meat. Thanron glared, shaking his head.

That gray, half lidded gaze settled on the lazy flicks of knife to carrot. The soft and familiar plops sounded into the stew below. Blond hair that had grown longer in the trip, fell loosely into his stare. His tunic was also worn and needed replacing. It drooped around his shoulders, dropping low at his chest. Thanron felt his ears heat and drew back in alarm.

What in Maker's name was compelling him to get so worked up over another man? Course the oaf was special to him, a brother of sorts and his best friend. And he felt good to know Thanron was important to Imraddon, too. They were there for eachother. He helped Thanron to get over that damn healer takin' his Ara, and Thanron… well, apparently helped just by bein' around him.

But that didn't explain his churning stomach and jumping chest. It didn't explain why Thanron felt like touching him, either.

Thanron did not feel a thing for men. If he sat in that tent for a damned hour, thinkin' about their parts, his body wouldn't react one bit. In fact, his prick would sprout legs and run away before it responded to theirs.

And women were so beautiful. They smelled nice, soft voices brushin' your ear, bubbling laughs messaging at your temples like a song. Their skin, soft and rosy, smooth beneath fingertips. Thanron could quicken just by starin' at a woman hard enough.

Imraddon smelled nice.

And, his voice was rather soft, too. Just, instead of a high, feathery key— it was low and smooth like velvet. His laugh rarely strayed from collected, a subdued chuckle with a tangible joy that set stars poking out between the clouds of his eyes. It sure massaged his insides, but it caused as much ache as it healed.

His skin was smooth where it wasn't raised in scars. Smooth and surprisingly warm for such a cool demeanor.

If he were a woman, Thanron would have ravished him that first night he slept in his bed. Imraddon was handsome. No use in denying that. And…

_Were you disappointed? That we didn't…?_

_Yes._

_ Yeah. _

He had drawn blood in his palms from clenching too tight fists. Restraining himself. Restraint. He didn't want to.

Yet, there he crouched, reopening the tent flap a crack to watch Imraddon chop fucking carrots like it was the most erotic thing in the world, reaching a hand down his trousers.

Again.

When it was over, he stared down at his hand in disgust, which was sticky with guilt.

The first thing he'd do in Minrathous was pay the Red Latern District a hearty visit. He needed a woman's touch to set him right. That much was easy.

vVv

It was breathtaking. A sight for her sore eyes, to be certain.

Made of warm woods and accented with sprawling vines, the house was inviting. It adopted a fairytale style that seemed straight out of a book. If Arathea hadn't known better, she would have suspected Na Vanum had led them out of Minrathous and into an enchanted forest. It was a cottage of massive proportions. Plenty of rich greens— trees, hedges, flower buds, and the like— framed its enormous body. It rested in a court, a bit secluded from the city streets and was elegantly shielded from prying eyes by a great ivy smattered fence that boxed it in.

Arathea breathed a sigh of relief. This cottage would ease her newfound nerves, for its containment and welcome.

"Fade take me," Na Vanum hissed.

Larus marveled with raised brows, "Danarius spared no expense, I see."

Na Vanum was staring darkly up at the house. Pure contempt in his eyes.

"He thought Emma would like it. A drop of Ferelden in Tevinter. An oasis," his voice stiffened with distaste, "the lovesick bugger said." Arathea peeked at his crossed arms, and the small grimace that pulled at his lips. "The great Na Vanum," he muttered, "forced to reside in a bloody cottage. Look at it. Are we baking cookies or winning an election to rule Tevinter?"

Ara smashed her lips together when a quiet laugh left them, flinching as Na Vanum turned to glare at her.

"I suppose you're happy, elf."

She resolved to nod. No use hiding what he could read in her head.

"It is quite charming, master."

Na Vanum snorted at that before he tilted his head slightly, dropping eyes to his shoes. As though someone had leaned to whisper in his ear. He sighed, lifting his gaze back to Arathea.

"Do you think Emma will like it?" His voice was flat. It seemed the question hadn't been his.

Ara blinked in surprise, "Of course she will!" before hastily adding, "master. And," she paused as she attempted to arrange the words in her head, without disrespecting him. She was not at all accustomed to conversing with her master this much. "It's sweet that the master took such pains to make Lady Vanasidhion comfortable. I think that alone will please her."

Na Vanum stared at her, disgust shifting to subtle intrigue.

"Master," she finally added with a flush.

"You think so, do you?"

Ara nodded once, "I'm certain of it, master."

He smirked, a softness in the dark pools that could only have been imagined by its swiftness of appearance. Ara blinked at the prospect of a smile.

As they walked to the estate's front entrance, Na Vanum brandished its key and twirled it around his finger with lazy flicks. "I'd wager," he finally cooed, "that Emma will rain a fiery wrath of dissatisfaction for her new home."  
Arathea frowned, an image of Emma's bewitched features as she drank in the house's beauty flashing in her mind. Surely not. Emma would be quite happy to live in such a place. Ara was beyond doubt of it.

Opening the door with a single turn of its key, Na Vanum swept an arm for her and Larus to enter. The pair stepped with wandering eyes, taking in the cottage decor. It retained its cozy nature inside. All was warm and smelled of fresh oak, pleasant paintings of forest scenes on the walls. Bookshelves in every room, ranging from large to small, with some lone books meticulously laid on tabletop edges. The cottage was carefully disheveled to appear lived in. Not so prim and proper as his seaside manor. Was that in hopes of making Emma feel more at home?

Na Vanum was quite right. The smell of cookies would suit this place perfectly. Perhaps she had better fix some.

vVv

"'Oi, Fenris! Wake up! We're fixin' to leave."

The elf jerked as Thanron's passing call pierced his mind. He blinked at the bright light filtering through the tent cloth. Bright, what time was it? He had slept in? The elf leaned his head up a bit, glancing down at himself. He was tangled in dark hair and thin limbs. Small breaths tickled his neck.

Fenris turned to stare at her sleeping face. Beautiful, glowing skin with a touch of rose at the cheeks. Soft curves that marked her delicacy, dark lashes that brushed the tops of her cheekbones. Her brow was smooth. So peaceful and devoid of worry. The Emma he could recall. The Emma he wanted back.

Precious moments revealed that she was still in there. Still playful, though it was masked by caution. Still naive, disguised with silence. Still in love with him, the spell obscuring it.

vVv

"_Emma," _fingers brushing her cheek,_ "wake up_._"_

She slowly opened her eyes to green, blinking in confusion, and then disappointment.

Disappointment that the gaze was not blue.

Emma smiled in spite of herself.

"Fenris."

"We overslept."

No, in spite of his manipulation. She greeted him with true affection, as it was meant to be. She told the elf that it was a good morning, and so it should be. She damned the spell's first dose of desire, and aching need. Danarius. Her wretched love for him. Stuffing it back inside the deepest corners of her heart, Emma opened the rest for the man who needn't pour his blood down her throat to receive it.

This had become her morning ritual. To force love back down like bile that rose in her throat. And to turn eyes where they belonged; on Fenris.

Was it working?

The fear of Fenris was ebbing. The unexplained disdain, fading.

Perhaps it was.

"Last night was quite a mess," she sighed, cheeks flushing at the memory. "I was trying to be…" Emma shrugged around a shake of her head.

"Sensitive," smirked Fenris as he rose from the bedroll. "If it helps," he crossed the tent to retrieve his armor, "I don't think there is a sensitive way to ask about a slave's past."

Emma winced. That was supposed to make her feel like less of an oaf?

The elf bent to collect his greaves, the rustle of leather between his fingers. He passed her a glance, eyes soft around their edges. "No one has asked before you." The elf lowered eyes to the markings that swirled along his arms. "There is something to be said for that." Emma blinked at his smile.

"Thank you for asking."

Her frown deepened in surprise. As if she had asked how his supper had been. _It was good, thank you._ Not the details of his lacking memories.

She replied, "Thank you for answering," in a quiet voice.

It was a pleasant way to break the ice that had formed beneath their feet after the awkward and emotional evening. Fenris had a knack for that in the thickest of times. She cast eyes down to pulling back the sheets and reaching for her travelling robes.

"It does stand to reason that I now have every right to interrogate you on personal matters."

Her fingers still around the fabric.

"Yes," she nodded, pulling the robes into her lap. "Yes, I think that is more than fair."

She glanced up to see his grin. The mischief in his eyes.

"I look forward to it, then."

vVv

Elen leaned to catch Yanwen's cast eyes, a playful smile coaxing her attention from curling toes in the dirt.

"Your mind has been wanderin'," she observed lightly. "Where to, might I ask?"

Without thinking, a sort of reflex of the mind really, she flicked a second's glance to the subject of her pondering. Elen, with her sharp mind, caught the tiny peek and frowned in Krayg's direction.

The heavy handed man was gingerly tightening the reins of his saddle. This likely had less to do with his deep affection for the world's creatures, and more to do with his spreading infection. Sunlight caught the sheen of sweat upon his brow, the bruised skin beneath his eyes. He seemed weak, an unnatural disposition for the staunch character.

Elen tsked beside her, no more able to ignore the obvious than she.

Krayg was dying.

"We can't have that," sighed Elen.

Neither of their consciences were going to allow them to stand idle as the horrible human withered away in the night. Despite his cruel attitude, he was fulfilling his end of the bargain. He was risking his life to deliver the elves and Emma to Minrathous in one piece. For that, even the most annoying copper sore deserved to live.

Yanwen shook her head as Krayg hauled himself onto his horse, face contorted in agony.

"He's stubborn," she muttered. "And proud."

"Surely he doesn't want to die," exclaimed Elen with an exasperated smile. "Especially not when it's avoidable."

"His pride could very well win against his desire to live." Elen was laughing with disbelief as Yanwen spoke, "No, I'm serious. The only way we can disinfect the wound is if we appeal to him."

Elen's smile widened as it did when she became cross.

"Saving his life isn't appeal enough?"

"Nope. We have to make it seem as though he was doing us a gracious favor by allowing us to nurse him."

"Oh, sweet Andraste, but he's a child."

Yanwen nodded in agreement.

vVv

I'll have a new chapter up soon!

_datajana: Why thank you! I'm sorry to have driven you to kittens, but I'm glad you're so attached to these characters. Within the next 10 or so chapters, you may need to have plenty of kitten videos at the ready as you read. _

_Lady Velvet C. Peterson: They definitely are! It's a slow climb, but they're climbing nonetheless._


	78. Let me heal you

vVv

The day of travel was calm and blood free. Trees passed without incident, gray clouds shifted above their barren branches. Emma dozed off several times, lulled by the pleasant crunch of hooves against snow.

She reread a book to pass the time. _The Ears of Time. _In what seemed like an eternity ago, Emma had watched Danarius pluck the same book from a shelf in his library. He had told her it was his favorite. She read along as the inept Mage journeyed through the dangers that would leave him to rescuing his love, along with the world, one awkward step at a time. And Emma couldn't help but wonder what sort of thoughts had passed through the magister's mind as he read it. What made the book in her hands Danarius's one favorite, out of all the hundreds in his collection?

When she finished the final word, Emma chucked it out the window without looking, listening in satisfaction to the prompt _sploosh _that followed_. _She imagined it striking an awful swamp's murky, green waters. Thick sludge pulling its beautiful story down into dark depths where filthy creatures would nibble at its spine.

Emma smiled.

Only one disturbance blocked the path near the end of their day's progress.

"Fucking move," Krayg's hoarse voice sounded from the front. "It won't move," he called to the others, "I'm gonna kill it."

A frantic voice snarled above his threats,

"The hell you are! Wait a second!"

Emma leaned her head out the carriage window to see what all the fuss was about.

She watched as Thanron scrambled down from his horse to stand in the way of Krayg's— and the object of their pause.

A mabari was planted by the rump before Krayg's horse, tail wagging along with his tongue as he stared up at the human. Emma could have sworn the beast was smiling. She leaned further out the carriage to get Fenris's attention, waving a hand. He caught her glance with a flick of his own, peered about their surroundings, and nodded once. Permission to exit the carriage. Ridiculous— but if it eased the elf's incessant worrying, Emma supposed she could relinquish a little pride. She opened the door and stepped out, walking to stand beside Thanron.

The mabari was very handsome. Short ears pointed for the sky in perfect triangles. The mabari's coat was a glossy, light brown, darkening in a strip down its back. Its snout was short and black, pink tongue flicking at its lips in anticipation of a treat. It was stout and stood in a comically wide stance, as all mabari were wont to do. Emma smiled, the mabari snorting with each wet breath.

Imraddon called from his horse.

"Back away, you two. That is a stray; it will likely bite."

"I second that," asserted Fenris, striding forth to place himself between Emma and the mabari.

Thanron was leaning forward, one hand propped at the knee, and the other extended before their strange visitor. The mabari didn't bother to sniff Thanron's fingers before giving them a thorough lick. Grinning, the elf knelt before the dog and immediately assaulted him with hearty pets.

"Don't listen to them," Thanron cooed around pointed lips, as if he were talking to a baby. "You're a good boy, I can tell."

The mabari responded by rolling onto his back, granting Thanron access to his belly. The elf was more than ready to comply. Whilst rubbing the mabari's fuzzy belly, Thanron turned back to grab Emma's hand.

"C'mere, pet him," he insisted. The excited elf seemed oblivious to the angry eyes of Krayg and Imraddon, who watched the scene with crossed arms from their saddles.  
Fenris lowered along with Emma as she knelt to the ground. He was tense beside her, ready to dip clawed metal into the animal's flesh if it threatened to harm her. It wasn't necessary. Emma was familiar with the species, as they were bred in abundance throughout Ferelden. This one showed absolutely no signs of aggression. In fact, it was a bit strange for its immediate acceptance of Thanron. This dog was accustomed to kindness from every being it encountered.

She held fingers out, and again the dog leaned up to lick them, no concern for Emma's possible threat to him. Though the situation _was _a bit strange, the human felt an immediate warmth creep through her veins as she was reminded of home. Seconds later, Emma's hands joined Thanron's in rough strokes along the mabari's belly.

The others approached with soft smiles and happy coos, guard and elf alike. All excepting Fenris, Krayg, and Imraddon, who observed behind the pack.

"He's adorable!"

"Look at his ears!"

Everyone apart from the aforementioned showered the dog in affection until Fenris called for them to mount. Emma and Thanron remained, exchanging a long glance in which they came to a silent agreement.

The pair then fixed their stares upon Fenris, who glared in anticipation of what was coming.

"We're going to keep it," announced Emma.

Fenris stared at Emma a long moment, before closing his eyes. She watched as he ground his teeth, jaw jumping as the muscles worked. After either a small deliberation or a silent bout of frustration, he opened his eyes, and pointedly stared at each of them.

"No," he pronounced. "You are not."

Upon their simultaneous outbreak of retorts, Fenris told Thanron and Emma that it was unwise to bring the mabari without Danarius's consent. Emma insisted that Danarius would permit her to keep him. She was no longer a slave.

Fenris shook his head, brow creasing in the way it did when he wished to hold his ground.

Thanron pointed an accusing finger at Fenris.

"If Emma says it's okay, then it's okay."

Fenris unfolded his arms in exasperation, one reaching to angrily scratch at the back of his head.

"You know full well that Danarius hates animals," he glared at Thanron. "We cannot bring him."

Thanron did a sort of dance in his anger, feet scuffing snow. The dog, having regained a sitting position amidst this discussion, released a short snort. His warm brown eyes were entirely fixated on Fenris, who dodged the gaze by deeming it time to turn away from the situation. He ordered over his shoulder, "Into the carriage, Emma."

After watching Thanron's frustration subside into sadness, Emma decided to give it one last go.

"Might I just bring him to Danarius?" she spoke to his retreating back. "The worst he can do is say 'no', in which case I can find the dog a home in the city. At least then, either way, he won't be stranded out here."

Fenris paused his steps.

His shoulders slowly fell to a defeated slump.

Sensing victory, Thanron gave Emma's rump a hard slap. She shoved him away with a scowl, turning to glance at the mabari. That panting tongue had ceased, and it seemed rather on edge, as well.

Tensed by the silence, Thanron called "Great idea," words thumping the grim elf's back. "Either way you toss it. Huh, Fenris?"

The elf finally turned, side glancing at Emma with eyes so severe, she felt compelled to look away.

vVv

He whirled back around and strode in the direction of his horse, angrily muttering under his breath all the while.

"Fine, fine, yes, fine, bring the damn dog. What am I here for but to let you do whatever the hell you want? Fenris, may I disappear into the woods, where men might carry me off in the night? May I ride my own horse into the arms of a demented mage? May I sleep without protection? Bathe alone? Pluck a mabari from the road and bring him along to Minrathous?"

Fenris grunted as he pulled himself onto the horse.

"_Yes_, my Mistress! Why do you ask if I have absolutely no option but to allow it? Maker, you must have exhausted your parents." He dug a heel into the horse's side and tensed as the horse raced to the head of the group, weaving through the clusters of elves. The elf didn't stop when he reached the front, continuing his angry grumbles. Leading his horse into a thick span of trees, he began scouting the perimeter for potential camp sites. Fenris used the time to cool his head and compile questions that would later make the defiant human squirm. She deserved to be thoroughly uncomfortable.

vVv

Aching joints gave way to hissing intakes of breath as Mirima and Demetri became _their highness _once again. The siblings peeked out from the shadows of their carriage, frantic hands emerging from every space before them to aid in their horribly dangerous descent from the single step that separated them from cobblestone. Mirima took the hand of one servant as he led her down the carriage step, and her brother easily detected the weariness behind her smiling eyes.

Pampered. Prodding. Primed. Proper.

He slapped away the hand that looked to assist and stepped down himself.

They were led to their separate chambers, a hot bath already awaiting them both. It would be furiously improper for them to visit their ailing Archon before being made presentable.

Mirima slipped into the waters, watching the steam curl up from its surface as elves scrubbed her body clean of its travels. Leaning her neck against the porcelain tub, Mirima closed her eyes around the pleasure of fingers dipped inside her locks.

Meanwhile, Demetri fought the brushes and lathers away, insisting that he could complete the task of bathing himself. Hot water and suds sloshed onto the bath chamber's marble floor. The elves found this change in routine strange, exchanging furrowed brows. He had never resisted their duty to clean him. As he ordered them out, they whispered that he did not threaten them or force the blood in their veins to quicken.

Familiar silks against skin that quieted Mirima's troubled mind. Ridiculous, patterned furs that caused Demetri to scowl. Combs attempted to tame his wild locks before recalling that it was impossible, and that this had _not _changed. Demetri glared at their sheepish apologies while pulling a curl to watch it spring.

They were deemed presentable. Their father waited patiently in his chambers to receive them. In a quiet murmur, the siblings were informed that he had worsened during their journey home. Mirima searched for Demetri's fingers, and he held them rigidly— uncomfortably— inside his own until the doors to their father's room were opened. Then, it was time to be strong.

"Father," Mirima smiled, crossing to hold the hand that reached for hers.

He looked to be a bit better than they had been told to expect.

Which still wasn't very good.

His bright white hair seemed to have dimmed. Once glowing skin had dusted in a slightly gray hue. But his deep blue eyes had not lost their twinkle. And his smile, though strained with the pain that held him against the sheets, was still as sincere and loving as always when he turned it upon them.

They talked, and Demetri was able to sit without his back aching from the tensity of his muscles. He was able to slouch in the way that his father disliked, legs stretched before him. Demetri was even able to lift the corner of his mouth in a half smile as Mirima recounted their experience.

"Danarius is still as devious," Mirima was sighing. "Kinder, but still the same sly fox."

Their father smiled around memories. Danarius was no stranger to their table. In fact, their father had taken a large hand in raising the fox to be his cunning self.

"'Kinder'?" Demetri broke his content silence to echo the word, "Perhaps to you, but not to me. His attitude has worsened."

Mirima rolled her eyes.

"You deserved any unkindness that he bestowed. Prowling about as you were, eyes constantly roaming where they didn't belong—"

The blood mage glared in warning but it was too late. His father detected a story.

"And where were they roaming to, my Demetri?"

He continued to stare daggers into his sister, daring her to speak another word on the subject.

"His bride," the traitor smirked.

She was going to pay for that.

"Demetri," his father sighed. "Why in the Maker's name would you—?"

Bitterly, Demetri cut in, "It doesn't matter. He performed the Final Ritual on her."

The Archon paused.

"I see."

"And I thought you banned it," Demetri accused, bracing the chair's arms to right himself. "Years ago."

"I could only ban its use without consent," his father seemed to sink further into the bed. "Unfortunately, that doesn't extend to slaves." Eyes fixing on the silken canopy, he murmured, "I never would have expected Danarius to take part in such manipulative magic. He was never one to cheat for success."

Sensing her father's discomfort, Mirima hurried to push it back upon her brother.

"You should have seen him, Father," she laughingly continued, "He even set up a romantic dinner for two in the gardens."

Their father chuckled, "He did not."

"He did!" she cried, "I couldn't believe my eyes as I watched it from my chambers. He had _Danarius's elves _set up a beautiful tent to shield them from the rain as they ate. I could see the candlelight burning within. Candlelight!"

"The audacity," marveled the Archon.

Demetri decided it was time to leave. He didn't want to be around for this embarrassment. And there were people he needed to get in touch with before the day was through. Preparations for Emma's escape were to be immediate.

"I shall have to meet this girl," his father was saying as Demetri reached the door, "she must be remarkable if she is capable of reducing my sensible son to foolishness."

vVv

"No."

"Yes."

Imraddon gripped the elf's arm before he could duck inside.

"Thanron! He is not sleeping in our tent!"

Mouth agape, he glared in disbelieving anger as Thanron held open the tent flap for his new furry friend. The mabari sidled inside, sniffing at Imraddon's bedroll before plopping down upon it.

Imraddon watched in horror while the mabari rolled its filthy body all over his blankets.

"How dare you," he whispered to Thanron, who attempted in vain to hold back his smiles. "After everything I've done for you."

Thanron gave his stomach a small shove, "Aw, come off it. You already share a tent with me and I'm just as filthy."

The elf grimaced at that.

He had a point.

vVv

Krayg stared longingly at the bowl of stew in his hands. He was starving but food wouldn't stay put in his stomach, no matter how hard he tried to fight off the retching. The smell wafted up to his nose, cajoling him to take a bite.

vVv

The girls shook their heads as they watched him idle with a spoon, stirring it ceaselessly around his bowl. Loss of appetite was never a good sign.

"How do you want to do this?" Elen began, turning her gaze to Yanwen.

Mal, sitting with folded legs before the log his friends perched upon, offered his silver sense:

"Yanwen could say she's in love with him," he smiled with raised brows as Yanwen choked on a lump of stew. "Begging— for her sake— that he let her see to his injury."

Elen frowned in thought.

"That could work."

"Absolutely not!" Yanwen cried around coughs. "Don't be absurd."

Mal shrugged, "Could be fun," he replied. "Trick him with batting lashes. Patch him up. Then, say, "Ha! T'was a ruse. His face would match his hair."

Yanwen shook her head with a shudder.

"Even if I didn't want to retch in his presence,_ he _finds me equally repulsive. No, I'll," she furrowed her brow, turning over conversations in her head, "I'll tell him Elen will be killed if his condition worsens." It had been the best she could draw up from the day's mulling it over.

"Alright," Elen nodded. "Best we've got."

Mal laughed.

"Good luck."

vVv

Krayg managed to force his battered body inside the tent, biting back groans of pain as he settled his stomach onto his bedroll. He felt sweat beading along his brow from the effort and cursed his weakened state. It was just a gash. Krayg had experienced many before it, and much worse to boot. Why was it proving so difficult _this _time around? Perhaps another night's rest…

No sooner had he closed his eyes than a low whisper slipped through his dulling mind.

"Ser," it began softly, "may I enter?"

He snapped back to attention.

"No," he snapped, "Go away."

Ignoring his rasped command, Krayg's intruder pulled back the tent flap. His eyes darkened as the silhouetted outline of knife ears appeared before him. Firelight illuminated one side of the elf's face and he forced himself upright, somehow able to contain the whimpers of pain that threatened to push past his lips. This bitch again. She carried a leather bag in her arms.

He reached for his sword with speed that seemed to surprise her. Hell, it even surprised him. Fingers wrapped around its hilt, he raised the metal tip to the elf's face, almost touching her nose. After she overcame the initial startlement, her features shifted to weariness.

"May I speak, ser?"

Since when did she bother with formalities?

The sword was growing quite heavy and Krayg feared he would drop it. Disguising his lack of strength for slight curiosity, he lowered it to the ground before him.

"You have ten seconds."

"Right," she sighed. "If you don't allow me to heal your wounds, my best friend might be blamed when you die." The elf noticed Krayg's frown deepen at her use of _when, _not _if_, and dug the knife deeper. "I'm certain you will," she added. " And my friend could be killed for letting it happen under her knowledge. I'm begging you. I could care less if you died. But for Elen's sake, please let me heal you."

vVv

Yanwen waited as Krayg consulted with his pride, attempting to appear patient and not severely the opposite. Who could be so stubbornly hateful toward elves that it was an actual toss up between death and letting one heal you? Such a horrible man. Was she scowling at him? She forced her features into evenness.

Finally, he parted cracked lips.

"You'll tell no one."

The elf nodded once.

"Sure."

"I will kill you if word gets around that you did this."

"Yes, yes," sighed Yanwen, though she wondered if Mal and Elen hadn't already told every creature in camp, not excluding the mabari. Lowering to her knees, she rested Elen's medicine bag on the edge of Krayg's bedroll.

Yanwen pulled out a hearty potion and extended it to him. He grabbed it, clumsy fingers brushing hers. They each glared in disgust upon the contact. Yanwen returned eyes to her bag, removing a clean rag and a wooden bowl that she would fill with rum.

She then commanded the human to rest on his stomach. He ruffled at being told what to do by an elf, but complied after a long bout of glaring. In the time it took him to situate himself, Yanwen had soaked the rag in alcohol. She listened in satisfaction as he turned broken moans into embarrassed coughs. Perhaps this wound would teach his pride a lesson.

The elf shifted on her knees until she was beside him. His body was tensed with anticipation.

With careful fingers, she pinched the end of his tunic and slowly began to pull it up his back. He hissed when it stuck in places.

She wrinkled her nose, muttering, "It stinks."

"Good," came his gruff reply.

It smelled like the body of someone who was already decomposing. She tried to cause him as little pain as possible while peeling the tunic from his skin. As more of the wound came into view, Yanwen was more and more appalled by his terrible job of dressing it.

"You didn't even cover most of the wound!" she exclaimed. "Oh, maker, but you've made a mess."

"I couldn't see," he snapped.

It looked awful. To the point where Yanwen regretted that second helping of stew.

She swung a leg over his body so that she was straddling him, resting her arse upon his.

"What the fuck are you—"

"I don't like it, either."

He was too weak to remove her, anyway.

Wrapping hands around his arms in a firm grip, Yanwen guiding them to rest at his sides, where she was able to trap them beneath knees.

Next, Yanwen reached for the rag and found herself taking a moment to steady her quickened heart.

She pressed the rag to his wound and he inhaled a broken breath. His eyes widened into saucers, face contorted into a look of pure shock.

He managed to hold back the scream that had parted his lips to accomodate it. But he couldn't stop the need to writhe beneath her. Yanwen anticipated this, leaning her weight in restraining him. Tears filled his eyes as she held the cotton there. He whimpered curses around trembling lips.

The copper sore was so pathetic that she felt compelled to say,

"You're going to be alright."

Even in his agony, he didn't want her pity. The human turned his face into the pillow, where his moans would be muffled.

It was going to be a long night.

vVv

"Tell me your first experience with masturbating."

Emma flushed scarlet, mouth dropping open in shock. Mind scrambling, she sputtered, "That isn't a question!"

The elf raised a brow.

"What was your first experience with masturbating?" he rephrased.

She glared at him.

"I'm— not… talking to you about something like that."

Fenris frowned, "I was much more uncomfortable to talk to you about my lack of memory." He knew she wouldn't argue against that for fear that it was too insensitive.

"Is this some sort of punishment?" Emma glared.

Fenris answered with a blunt, "Yes."

"I haven't done anything."

The elf's dark brows raised, a strange and maddened smile forming on his lips. He barked a bitter laugh around the word, "Emma," staring behind a veil of white locks. "I thoroughly considered slipping a sedative into your stew."

"No," Emma sighed, running sweating palms along her thighs. "I know I've been a hard job to look after." She colored again. "I'm referring to your vulgar question."

Fenris narrowed his eyes, turning to give her a sideways glance.

"I don't believe that."

"Well-" Emma dropped her gaze to fumbling fingers, "Do... believe it."

It was the elf's turn to blush.

"Ah."

"Have you?"

He gave her the kind of look that only the cripplingly naive received.

Fenris continued a similar barrage of questions. Not less than half of them sexual, but humiliating, nonetheless. The next question he asked was: had Emma ever wet the bed? Which — incidentally — occurred rather often than was normal in one's childhood.

This went on until the elf was satisfied with her embarrassment.

vVv

Imraddon groaned, cupping a hand to shield his nose.

"What did you feed him?"

"Your cooking, that's what! It makes everyone full of farts— _ow!" _Thanron leaned up to deliver the elf's side with a hard shove. "What was that for?"

"It was the dog."

"You lying sack of shit!"

vVv

Emma and Fenris later lay in their own bedrolls. One thought rattled their brains in an endless tumble:

Two more days.

For Emma, it was two more days to build a barrier between herself and the spell's unfair affections. So that when the time came, she would be ready to turn cold eyes on the one responsible.

For Fenris, it was two more days to recover the love that his human had lost.

vVv

_ElyssaCousland: Hello, hello! Glad you enjoyed the last few chapters. Thanks as always for reading. I'll definitely keep going._

_ datajana: That she is and that he does :)_

_ Lady Velvet C. Peterson: Too true. Maybe this experience will stick in his mind. But then again, maybe it won't._

_ Cute Guest: You're cute. Thank you._

_ Faebsel: Reviews like this are always so nice to read. I love it when someone tells me that they couldn't stop reading. I have that experience all the time with books and fanfictions. It's strange to think that someone can't put something down— that _I _wrote. It's the vain reason I continue. Thank you so much. As for the ending; it will be happy for some, but not all. Sorry to be vague, but I want you in suspense. _


	79. I'd forgotten

vVv

Na Vanum and Danarius teetered on the edge of consciousness, a glass held limply in their fingers. Its dull thump against the rug roused them further. Again, as he attempted every morning, Danarius reached to grip the reins. And, feeling generous — or perhaps simply exhausted from steering their course — Na Vanum pushed himself to the dark corners of their mind. Danarius's efforts always caused their body to perspire, muscles tightening around the strain. He needed lyrium. Na Vanum needed blood. Neither could rule the world without.

Unlike poor Danarius in the case of lyrium, there were rich amounts of blood surrounding Na Vanum. All he need do was catch an unsuspecting sac of life in an empty alleyway. Drain it of that steaming warmth, feel it spill out against his skin. Then, listen to its melodic screams slip into the fade, where Na Vanum would follow with a single step. And in that beautiful and damning place from whence he came, the demon fed upon lost souls that he led into the fade; his web to feast on flies. Only there did his fangs glisten with blood. Only there did he take on his true form in all its magnificent and ungodly glory.

A mutual sigh tumbled down their tunic, joining spilled whiskey below.

But that required him to move, didn't it? And most inefficiently, without blood, the demon cared not to lift a finger.

It was irresponsible for Na Vanum to have gone this long without feeding. In the castle- that damningly isolated thing- he was forced to feed on unimportant guests, mischievous elves, and lost travelers. Two passing moons without a drop could incapacitate Na Vanum, and Danarius would rein. But he found himself forgetting what he was, on occasion. Perhaps it was his prolonged joining to a mortal. Or perhaps it was his constant mingling with them.

The sunlight reflected on the leaves that framed a window, illuminating their bodies in a brilliant green. Its position in the sky shared that it was noon. He would be far too weak to Pull if the demon waited for sundown.

"_Your needs are burdening," _Danarius spoke, but not with the disdain it suggested, _"Fetch an elven whore and be done with it."_

"I do apologize," chuckled the demon, with an equal lack of anger, "for being burdensome. But not all of us can fuck our way out of hunger."

"_Not hunger," _Danarius smiled coldly within, _"Control over you. You," _he turned over in their mind, _"who would destroy my life's work if I allowed it."_

The demon responded with a shrug.

"Unintentionally."

Danarius sighed,_ "I know."_

His voice, though tucked away as it was inside their head, echoed its breath of regret throughout the study. Na Vanum drew eyes to the candle flames and watched their flickering dance with disinterest.

A scent had been creeping into the room, all the while. Undetectable at first in its faintness. It strengthened then, washing over the demon's face as if in a caress of his cheek. Could a scent retain heat? For it warmed his flesh, made colder by his weakened state. It coaxed him to pull himself out of the chair that trapped him with its softness, and follow the origin of — cinnamon. Na Vanum left the room in a refreshing curiosity that slipped energy into his veins.

It livened the demon's lazy steps until the brisk characteristic of his gait had returned without his awareness. The pleasant smell pinched him by the nose with soft fingers, leading him down the halls. Past ridiculously cozy decor that caused his brow to twitch. Toward the kitchens. Na Vanum could hear the soft tinks of glass with his approach. He pushed open the door, pausing in the doorway.

She raised her doe gaze up to him in surprise, fingers poised around the handle of a glass pitcher. Milk poured in a thin stream from its spout and into a short glass waited below. Her parted lips were glistening, a telltale line of white just above them. Behind her, a tray of cookies had been freshly pulled from the flack oven to cool. They were still steaming and spreading cinnamon throughout the room.

Na Vanum had drank in the scene with wide eyes, one palm still pressed against the door.

vVv

Finally, his dark eyes darkened still, and lowered to stare at the table before Arathea. She flinched when he spoke suddenly, his voice quiet around the words,

"You are making a mess."

Inhaling a sharp breath, Ara lifted the pitcher's spout, grimacing at the wasted milk that spread itself across the wooden countertop. Setting the pitcher down quickly, Arathea turned to reach for a rag to soak up the mess she had made. As the elf pressed its cloth to coldness, she became aware of the contrasting heat of her cheeks. Arathea was a fool, there and back again with silly displays before her master.

"Do you mock me?"

She froze.

Arathea began shaking her head slowly.

"Look at me," Na Vanum commanded. His voice was tight with anger and almost difficult to hear. She raised eyes to his while fearing to do so.

"You are either stupid," he began with eyes that revealed nothing in their darkness, "or openly mocking me."

vVv

She seemed greatly conflicted, and he impatiently rifled through her mind to reach the conclusion her trembling lips could not provide. Na Vanum found the elf caught between two responses, both condemnable in her simple mind. Tell the demon that he was wrong and risk offending him; or apologize, accepting the punishment he would bestow for "mocking." Na Vanum found himself amused, and then — bewildered, as the elf did something that neither of them expected.

Arathea mindlessly reached for a cookie and held it out to him. Which was still much too hot for her fingertips to grapple, so she began to toss it back and forth between outstretched hands. Persistent in the offering. He stared at the display in silence, watching the cookie as it was thrown back and forth, bits of its sugary body crumbling away from her handling.

When the demon did not reach for the cookie, Arathea placed it back upon the sodden counter. Her mind was reeling with thoughts of humiliation and contempt for herself.

"The first," she finally spoke in defeat , "I am stupid." And though she did not understand the reason for his earlier accusation, she believed the statement to be true.

And in that moment, the demon realized that Arathea was the opposite of an idiot. This elf was mistaking a kind disposition for stupidity. And in the world these creatures lived in, kind individuals were often mistaken for fools. Stumbling about the world in an effort to do right, putting others needs before her own.

Arathea was then beginning an apology, but he could only watch her lips form the empty words… mind dulling as his hunger grew to new heights within him.

Na Vanum imagined pulling her by the arm into the fade. Watching her eyes widen with horrified awe as she beheld his true body. He would pull her to him. His gaze would drop to the quickened pulse at her throat. Lips wrapping around her slender neck, Na Vanum would tap into her skin and Pull the blood from her veins. Her life. How sweet it should be. How pure and devoid of the common man's pollution.

His human body quickened with translated desire, still wishing to devour her. But in a different manner.

What roused him was Arathea's cry. A resounding note of relief that reverberated against his skull, bringing the unfamiliar episode of arousal to a grinding halt.

"Larus!"

He turned to find the name's bearer wearing an expression of confusion. It was like seeing the demon's own scene reenacted by Larus. A kitchen entrance, his stumble across something strange, one hand propped against the door.

"Would _you _like a cookie?" Arathea asked hopefully, reaching for the same cookie she had offered Na Vanum. She had forgotten its sodden and broken state. It mushed beneath her fingers and the elf pulled her hand away in surprise.

"Perhaps not that one," Larus answered with a smile, that insufferable _oh, you _smile he often gave her. He nosed the air as she fetched him a plate. "They smell delicious."

The happiness in her eyes angered him. The unabashed relief in her eyes angered him more.

This must have been tangible, rolling off of him in thick waves, for Larus stepped further into the kitchen. His smiling brown eyes stiffened with wariness as he noticed the spilled milk that dripped loudly against the tile below. And that despite her smile, Arathea's hands shook as they gripped the brimming glass.

Larus smoothed his features when they threatened to tighten.

"Everything alright?"

Na Vanum's stare was cold upon the healer.

This question was intended for Arathea to answer, but she didn't seem to realize. A silence followed as she rested the plate of cookies and milk upon a woven place mat. She finally raised her head to glance at Na Vanum and found that the two were staring at her.

"Me," she registered, holding fingers to her chest. "Yes—" The elf paused and glanced again at the demmon, searching his eyes for disapproval of assumption. When she found none, the elf spoke with a new confidence. A sheepish sort of conviction that colored her cheeks and brightened her smile. "Except…it seems cookies cause the master great—… vexation."

Teasing. He discerned it with a twitch of surprise, the second brow rising to join the first. She smoothed a wrinkle in the place mat, eyes soldered to his. Arathea was playfully acknowledging his earlier frustration, now holstered by the courage to ask why.

The elf deemed herself safe from Na Vanum when the object of her lover's gaze.

He found this confidence transfixing.

"Mm."

Larus and Arathea seemed to relax, and the former ambled to the kitchen island, seating himself upon a wooden stool. "Well, baking certainly cozies up this cottage. He hates it. He even said so, Ara."

"Oh!" she cried. The elf was embarrassed. "I do apologize! I see why you believed I mocked you." She smoothed hands across her apron. "I'd forgotten. I'm sorry, master."

The demon waved the apology away. He felt a tinge of her embarrassment.

"It is foolish."

And it was.

The demon wordlessly stepped to the counter and placed an entire cookie in his mouth. He immediately reached for the milk as cinnamon crumbles coated his tongue. And he didn't understand why he felt so powerfully compelled to eat one.

"Are they dry?" asked Arathea as she laid a napkin upon the space of counter before him.

He nodded again, lips forming a smile around the glass's edge.

vVv

The sky had become one massive bruise throughout their day's ride. Gray and blue, with hints of purple, as though the Maker had smacked it. Fenris peered at the potbellied clouds with calculating eyes that followed their shifts. Emma watched him from her window, cheek resting along the sill. The clouds stumbled over each other, their apologies audible in rumbling rolls. Gently, now. Kind. But perhaps they would not be so forgiving later and cry out indignantly as they merged. Fenris glanced Emma's way and caught her stare. The piercing green was softened in apology.

Thunder claps.

vVv

They made for camp just in time, when lightning's sharp flash illuminated the sky. Emma's stomach was in knots as her carriage came to halt, but she forced her shoulders to square, her chin to remain raised. So that when Fenris opened her door and granted her permission to roam freely, Emma was able to nod and walk with fabricated calm.

To keep her mind off of the increasingly violent tremors in the sky, Emma hurried to assist Thanron with caring for the horses. His brow arched at something written in her eyes as he turned a tether over in his hands. Then, the elf leaned to gather a metal bucket in which he dumped a large heap of apples, instructing Emma to reward the horses he tethered. She eagerly did so as Thanron finished tethering and set to pitching the tent around them. Through the sounds of nickering, crunching, Thanron's ceaseless chattering, and the clang of his hammer, Emma was able to draw an even breath again.

But the pounding ache in her chest that had settled there upon the first rumble… that didn't go away. The ache of fear that so often laced with a desperate loneliness. That persisted like a chill. Thunder's call was unequivocally lonely.

Her mind flashed with images that forced Emma's brow against a horse's neck as she drew long breaths.

_Papa. _

"Alright, Miss Lady," Thanron's voice rounded a nearby horse and Emma quickly righted herself. "Appreciate the help, our work is done." He leaned to tug at a tether's hold before passing a lazy grin, "Let's go see what Imraddon's fixin' to make."

On their way, the elf added, "If it's stew again, I'm gonna cause a fuss."

And cause a fuss, he did.

vVv

The elf's moan was weak as she slackened in his arms. Na Vanum leaned to watch the color leave her cheeks, a dusky pink gone to sallow. He raised a glance to the lamp lit streets beside them and edged deeper into the shadows.

His body was aching and tingling in voracious thirst as he raised fingers to slash at the air. Tearing an opening into the fade. He pulled at the mortal world's flaps and adjusted the feeble elf in his arms. Her brow creased with a drowsy confusion as Na Vanum carried her body into the fade. The elf's mumble was distorted,

"Where are you taking me, ser?"

They always asked this. Followed by,

"Wha…what—?"

… when they witnessed his body change before them. The elf's eyes widened, skin stretching, and her lips formed a perfect "o". She writhed distractedly in his arms, as though her brain wished to get away, but her body remained transfixed into stillness.

"You— you're a…"

He tilted his head in warning. Above all, he _despised _the exclamation,

"Vampire!"

… and showed no mercy to its speaker.

vVv

Yanwen parted the tent flaps with one hand, gripping Elen's medical supplies with the other. She was greeted by a muttered curse and glower from Krayg. As soon as she laid her bag down and requested him to remove his shirt, the human was launching into his tirade of complaints.

"Do you know what they're saying?" Krayg demanded beneath cotten as he pulled his tunic overhead. The elf rolled her eyes while it was safe to do so. By the time his hot gaze emerged, Yanwen's was even.

"Yes," she replied. "They all think we had sex last night."

He flinched at the blatant words and narrowed his eyes in disgust.

"Perhaps you should have been more quiet, ser."

Yanwen sighed as he promptly cursed her into oblivion, along with the usual threats against her life, and vows that he would fuck a bloodthirsty Thaig crawler before fucking her.

"We'll explain," she removed a fresh roll of bandages. "It will be fine. Lay down and keep silent this time."

vVv

She laid the book aside when it became too dark for her to make out the words. Another deep rumble resounded all around. Her heart answered with its own, almost audible thumping. Massaging fingers into her temples, she willed away the memories of her father. They hurt too deeply to recall in the storm.

And to her growing dismay… each time she was able to fend off her Papa's face, she was assaulted with the face of her husband, instead. Her husband… how easily she regarded him so.

She whimpered as another cracking pierced the sky. Loud as a tribal drumming in her ear. Emma craved the magister's warmth as chills wracked her body, hating herself for it. It was an unconscious plea against the loneliness. Her mind's absent call for something soft upon her cheek. Manipulated by magic. Nothing more.

Emma needed him again. As he had been there before. The memory flooded her like a deep kiss.

_Emma slowly opened her eyes and squinted at the harsh light that immediately filled them. It was a fire and its warmth licked at the salty wetness upon her cheeks. She watched the flames move as they always did, flickering and whispering. That hadn't changed. _

_But something as familiar as the flame's dance had._

"_Papa," she whispered. _

_A thunder clapped hard and she flinched, a small whimper escaping her lips. That feeling of loneliness the loud noise elicited had never been so strong. She wanted to crawl inside herself and escape it completely. _

_Emma felt a gentle squeeze around her body, a small sigh against her hair._

_She finally noticed the warmth against her back and cast her eyes down to find strong arms wrapped around her stomach. A second pair of legs stretched outside hers and a thunder clapped. She flinched. Danarius's voice was close to her ear, whispering her name and a thunder clapped. And a thunder clapped._

"_Danarius," Emma breathed, "I'm scared. The thuh…" A loud, abrupt roar rattled the glass panes. "— the thunder," her voice cracked as tears filled her eyes anew. _

"_Listen to me. I am here."_

_She felt his voice vibrate against her back, felt his arms tighten around her. For just a moment, Emma felt like she could breathe again. And then the sorrow claimed her…a thunder clap…_

"_You are not alone."_

_Without thinking, she turned over in his arms and buried her nose in his neck, inhaling the scent of ink and parchment. Sobs wracked her body. But they were different. They were necessary. Danarius brought a hand to stroke her back, speaking softly into her ear. _

"_I'm here, Emma."_

_She wept and moaned and listened to the magister's comforts. The words she needed to hear._

"_I'm here," he hushed her. "I've got you."_

"_Danarius," she whispered against his skin. "Don't leave me."_

"_I won't."_

"_Please."_

_ Emma felt her body being tugged at, felt the ground leave her legs and the sway of movement. Then, softness and warmth as she was laid upon the mattress. Sheets rustled as the magister pulled them up her body and settled into them, himself. He swiftly collected Emma into his arms again, pulling her body close. The heat of his skin soaked through hers and warmed the coldness inside. Danarius gently stroked her back, resting his chin against the top of her head._

The memory was distorted somehow, but only a part of her understood that. He hadn't said those words, had he? Danarius was there, but he had… sang her a song. Emma didn't know which parts were true. But her heart felt ready to burst inside her chest. Another pounding in the sky and Emma's stomach churned. She was going to be sick.

She frantically crawled out of her cot. It was much too dark, and the outside fires were dimmed by the onslaught of rain, with only one dying candle to aide her in the tent. Out of their bags, Emma removed several more candles. She hurried to the candle that had melted its last length of wax and brought a new wick to the flame. Her violently trembling fingers wouldn't allow it to light. She gasped a curse as the sky erupted.

"Light," she begged, "damn you."

Long fingers stretched to close around hers, gently coaxing her relinquishing of the candle. In a few flicks of a wrist, all candles were burning brightly, illuminating the room to reveal her savior.

Fenris's apologetic smile was gone from his face. Instead, it was carved to graveness. She watched the elf with wide eyes as he retrieved several holders and righted the candles.

Thunder again and Emma cried out, clapping a hand to her mouth. Breathing was no longer easy. Her lungs wanted more air than she could provide. She drew shallow breath after shallow breath, wheezing at the pain in her chest.

Fenris was before her, dropping to his knees. He silently pulled her by the arm, hands lacking a softness for their insistence. She allowed his touch, welcomed it. Fenris then drew her body into his lap, and pressed fingers to her brow, guiding her head to rest upon his shoulder.

He cupped hands firmly over her ears.

She frowned at the simple gesture. The palms against her ears were cold and wet with rain. And then, a cold and wet nose brushed her knee. She glanced down as the mabari curled up at her side. He nuzzled her limp hand until she lifted it to pet him. It took her a moment to realize that Fenris had brought him into the tent, despite his dislike for the mabari's company. The stiff, ice sculpture of her body began to melt from his kindness.

The next thunder clap was a bit muffled, its indignant cry made less biting by the elf's elementary— yet, colossal aide. She closed her eyes around the bliss of warmth against her back, and in her lap where the mabari's head lay; a drowning out of the horrible rumbling.

Emma remembered then.

"It was you," she spoke softly, cheeks heating with shame. "I can't believe I'd forgotten."

The storm passed fairly quickly, but the elf's hands remained poised over her ears even as they slept. Emma felt better.

She would never again forget that he was there.

_vVv_

_ Sorry for the late update! I was in Maui._

_ ElyssaCousland: He has to, right? He's begging for it with all that hatred. _

_ datajana: Yes, he loved making Emma squirm with embarrassment. You're right, they would be a relentless duo!_

_ 10: I'm sorry I left you in anticipation! But I'm glad you're enjoying updates. _

_ Lady Velvet C. Peterson: Yeah! I'm excited to write mabari scenes._

_ MirandaBasilisk: … well, you guessed one of the outcomes, but I won't tell you specifically, so you're at least a little surprised. Yeah, Demetri's deeply in love with someone he's third in line for. Shame, but he shouldn't have fallen for her in the first place. _

_ kwikslvr: I'm so pleased I elicited all these frustrations from you. So very pleased. _

_ Fluff lovin' Guest: Hee hee! I've meddled with your schedule with my fictitious affairs. That's awesome to think about. There's some fluff for ya!_


	80. I insist

vVv

It was their last day of travel, and the road buzzed with excited voices. After making camp that night, they would only walk a few more hours in the morrow before reaching Minrathous. Reaching the capital! Sleeping on straw mattresses instead of thin bedrolls. And no more isolation upon a cliff's edge. They were to be crammed inside a busy city, where elves roamed, alongside their masters. For most, this would be their first visit to the capital, and they carried high expectations. Vendors of magic, steel, and jewels to admire when their duties called them outside.

In celebration of their travels' end, Thanron decided that there must be a party in which they finished off the mead and ate _no _beef stew. Everyone was in favor. Imraddon asked his friend where they would find the ingredients to make anything other than beef stew, as it was all they had left to their supplies.

"Ugh," Thanron scowled. "Fine!"

And so the party became one with mead _and _beef stew.

vVv

The smell of the tavern punched him in the nose as he entered. It smelled as though its patrons were pissing on the very walls. It was only three in the afternoon, and yet there was not an open chair in sight. Women leaned over tables, breasts heaving as they laughed. Waitresses scowled— some smirked— as men reached to pat their asses appreciatively after the brandishing of a round of pints.

Demetri scanned the dank room, nose wrinkled in distaste. He jerked in surprise as a man clapped him on the back. The prince turned to meet the aged eyes of a man. He was broad and sturdy, though his manner suggested he retained a grace that plucked purses from trousers. Demetri took a step back.

"Look at you," the man guffawed, eyeing the gold trimmed hilt of his sword. His bushy brows furrowed into a dark line. "You look familiar, you do."

Demetri adjusted his robes.

"I'm looking for Crain."

The man curled his lip in confusion.

"We haven't got a Crain here."

"Erm…" The blood mage frowned as he tried to remember Crain's alias. "Salty Dog," he amended.

The man busted into a wide, only partially toothful grin, as his face brightened with knowing. "Salty! In the back with the new lass." He rubbed his chin as he pointed to the back hall. "Brilliant, that one. So I heard, can't afford her." The man laughed at that, clapping him once more. Demetri bit his tongue that time. "Salty'll be out soon. Can I get you anythin'?"

"Do you have water?" the prince asked, wincing as his tongue throbbed.

He laughed again, a loud barking, as though Demetri's request was a joke. When the young man remained serious, the man coughed in embarrassment. "Right, be back in a tick."

Demetri felt a headache coming on.

"Oh, fuck _me, _what are _you _doing here?"

He met the exasperated eyes of "Salty Dog", who had just returned from a stretch with the new lass— who turned out to be a mean looking woman with bushy blonde hair and a limp to her walk. Shoving tunic back into trousers, Crain slowly crossed the room.

Helena Crain was a golden brown woman with endless knots in her strawberry locks. What light managed to pierce through the grimy windows of the tavern shined in her light brown eyes and staggering proportions of jewelry. A well-known sea maiden on the rise. She captained her own ship and payed her own crew. Strong, intelligent and just the woman Demetri needed to see.

"Hey, princess," Crain rubbed the back of her neck as she approached. "What brings you to the docks—?" She stopped short when Demetri raised a hand to silence her.

"I'd prefer to speak of matters in a more—" the blood mage gave his surroundings a distasteful glance, "private venue."

Crain groaned, "Aw, shit, it's that kinda payback?" She tousled her hair before resting a fist upon her leaning hip, "Listen, I'm not really doin' that kinda work anymore. That's not my scene."

"Your… _scene _is more dangerous than what I'm asking you to do."

"Bullshit," Crain sighed. "You know that I'm not good at sneaky. I'm good at—" she a hand before Demetri's nose, "screaming orders over canon fire. I'm good at wrenching gold from Four Fingers' hands— did you hear about that? Quite a story, that one. But I'm not good at sneaky. I'm a pirate. I'm not a bloody—" she shook her head, "sailor. It's not a good look for me, and image means a lot to piratefolk. They walk all over you if you don't present yourself a certain way— do certain things. There's this one woman named Isabel— she's a right twat. Just really mean. This one time, I buggered it while trying to raid her ship, and she spread ridiculous rumors that I cried like a baby about it. I didn't! I was a little disappointed, sure, but I certainly didn't _cry_—"

"Crain." Demetri's voice was soft, "I need your help. It won't go unrewarded. I'll pay you more than a year's worth of raids would earn you."

The pirate winced as her weakness was struck. She brought a knuckle to her nose, deliberating beneath furrowed brows.

"Alright," Crain finally exhaled sharply. "Alright. What am I gonna do, say no to _that_? Fuck you, Demetri. Fine." She held out hands before herself, "Lead the way. My image will be shattered, but fine. "

vVv

"You did a shite job at rationing if you're left with beef stew for a week straight."

The elf dropped his ladle into the bubbling pot and massaged away the tension in his temples. Thanron could be insufferable at times. Though he loved the git all the more for it, Imraddon could become completely exhausted from a single conversation with him. Thanron had demanded their finest ingredients to be used in the first week of travels. And to avoid the incessant whining and groaning about it, Imraddon heeded to his wish.

"Take a moment to realize," the elf calmly replied to the ground, "how childish your behavior is."

He glanced up to find Thanron's features contorted in consideration, cheeks a bit more rosy than before. The elf was taking a moment to reflect on his ridiculousness, which eased a bit of Imraddon's annoyance.

Thanron promptly continued his whining assault.

"I don't care if it's childish, I gotta eat somethin'!"

Exasperated, Imraddon angrily rummaged through his dwindling supplies for an alternative meal. "Grilled goat cheese and beef sandwiches," he grumbled. He rose to stretch his back, twisting left to right. "Take it or leave it."

"I'll take it! Why didn't you think of that before?"

"Because there isn't enough for everyone."

Thanron waved away the guilt, "We'll cook 'em somethin' better than grilled cheese in Minrathous…" The elf turned as he felt a presence beside him.

"Hey there, Fenny."

"Ronny."

Fenris had stepped to join them, holding a pint with the frothy remains of mead along its glass. Thanron gave him the furrowed brow, the up and down, the words of question around a growing smile.

"Who said you could get started without us?" Thanron teased.

"Unlike you, I can hold my liquor. Are you two my friends?"

The youngest elf hadn't been given time to process the insult before Fenris's bizarre inquiry was presented. Without a twitch. Only a forward bend to set down his pint before resettling that steady gaze upon the pair.

They exchanged a startled glance, mirroring the other's bewilderment.

Thanron was the one to break their daze. He turned to Fenris with a glare,

"Of course, you fuckin' prick, what did you think all these years?"

Now, Fenris looked embarrassed. As he should have been. Even Imraddon felt a dull pang in his chest upon receiving such a question. Fenris was clearing his throat, seemed to be fighting back a smile.

Softly, he said, "I deemed you as such."

They three flushed with warmth and experienced a varying amount of shame to have been touched by the moment.

"Where the hell did that come from?" Thanron demanded.

Fenris seemed to sober, the smile falling slack.

"I need to impose on the both of you. I need people I can confide in because I have been driving myself to the brink of insanity," He looked them each in the eye, dark brows furrowing in emphasis. "For months."

"You're not gay," Thanron murmured. "Are you?"

Fenris patiently regarded him.

"I have no preference. That isn't what this is about."

Imraddon scowled at the elf's shocked expression before nodding that Fenris should speak. He didn't take a breath before doing so.

"I'm in love with Emma."

Green eyes waited with quiet understanding while the others contemplated his declaration. Soaked it in like a sponge dabbing at spilled poison. Thanron's features ran as rampant as his thoughts, it seemed, as he shifted between glares, smiles, and grimaces.

Imraddon't answer was curt, spoken through a bite he could not contain.

"You must do away with these feelings."

Fenris sucked in a breath and cast his eyes down to the stew's bubbling.

"Imraddon," Thanron glared.

"This is not—"

"Shhhuddup."

Turning to Fenris, the youngest elf spoke with an uneasy smile, "I knew you two were close friends, but—" He shrugged, wincing a bit, "well, maybe I wondered about it…" His dark eyes then locked onto something past Fenris's pointed armor, to a moving target. Imraddon followed his gaze to see Emma stepping to greet Elen, tucking locks behind her ears. "I get it," Thanron continued with softened eyes. "She's special."

Silence allowed Imraddon to admit this. No one could be blamed for loving Emma.

"I suppose I," He forced his voice to soften, "… get it, too," Imraddon relinquished with a sigh. "There's nothing wrong with loving someone." He glanced at Thanron, before meeting eyes with the sullen Fenris. "So long as you love from a distance, of course."

The green eyes widened a fraction — a horse hair — before drifting back to the stew.

Thanron let out a nervous laugh, and Imraddon was ready to strangle Fenris. Out of all of the elves, he would never have guessed Fenris could be capable of such stupidity. _Fenris_— Danarius's right hand slave! How in the world—?

"Why don't we grab pints—" Thanron, recovered from his uncomfortable surprise, leaned to grab Fenris's empty glass, "and you can start from the beginning."

vVv

He was feeling better. The nightly tremors that wracked him — so violent that his muscles ached from the effort — had ebbed to a negligible knocking of his teeth. His back did not cause him to whimper in pain when he mounted his horse. The steady flow of medicines and elixirs saw to that. Every couple hours, she would leave the cluster of hiking elves to walk beside his horse's step. The guardsmen felt her studying his face, felt her brow furrow as she did. Then, the elf would discreetly tuck his next dose inside his pack, and fall back to join the others.

Krayg almost thanked her once. A quiet grunt of appreciation that he had to mask as a cough. An automatic response to her routine dispensal. There was no real gratitude behind it. It was simply what one said to another when handed an item of value — and he had forgotten her knife ears for that single tick. The next time she had neared, Krayg cantered his horse to scout the perimeter.

He watched her now, as the steam rose up to lick her face in hot tendrils. Her skin was gleaming from its slobber. The usual cooking elf was preoccupied with Fenris and the little one, and Yanwen had took to his ladle.

The elf's brow was hardened with focus. She put all of her focus to any and every task, Krayg had come to notice. In the washing of her body, in the stirring of stew, in the dressing of his wounds. She devoted herself completely. Krayg supposed, upon each of his studies, that if one was not equipped with basic knowledge and civility, simple tasks would require all of their attention.

"For the _hundredth _time, Krayg looks at that girl."  
The guard stiffened and an explanation of his staring clumsily formed on his tongue.

Beron was grinning, thin lips pulled back over his teeth. Marcus leaned too far forward as he laughed and mead sloshed onto his boots.

"You can't be serious!"

Beron's eyes widened and his arse rose from the log in his excitement, "If you had been there!" he cried, falling back into his seat. "If you had been appointed two weeks before, you would have been sloshed in that tavern with the rest of us. We were vomiting and laughing in the same breath! He wouldn't stop looking! He never noticed that we drank each time he did, either. And not once— _once _did he go over and say something."

Ah. Krayg's heart ceased its stuttering. They hadn't been referring to the elf, but some random girl in Minrathous.

She had simply looked familiar and Krayg was certain he had known her. He could almost hear her voice in his ears. But where or when they met, he could not recall. The guards' conversation had been of little interest to him, so he spent the minutes studying her face in hopes of remembering. Several times, in exasperation, he had leaned to ask Bentley if he recognized her, and that's when the men noticed his attentions on her.

They mistook it for romantic interest and began drinking each time he looked. So Krayg spent the next hour getting them piss drunk to punish their prodding noses.

He glanced up to find Emma and Yanwen making rounds to serve the stew. At the voyage's beginning, the elves and guards had lined up, but it caused too much… controversy. Primarily, between Yanwen, Emma, Thanron and half of the guard. They were slaves, the guard had attempted to reason. It was insulting to be served after or even at the same time as them. It was only appropriate that the guard eat first. But this would not do at all for the three headaches. They "resolved" to hand-serve everyone in a clockwise circle, no matter who was sitting where — they would be served in that order. At the time, the guard was too hungry and tired (after having participated in an hour's fruitless debate) to argue further.

Yanwen was almost upon them with her own pot, scooping out ladlefuls of stew into the bowls Emma provided.

"Krayg," the mentioned received an abrupt elbow to the ribs from Marcus. "There's your elf."

The guard fixed him with a tired glower.

"Don't be repulsive."

"Repulsive," Marcus chuckled, leaning towards him and again unaware of his mead's spilling. "I'm not repulsive," He jutted a thumb in the elf's direction. "I'm not the one so desperate for a shag that I'd take a knife ear into my bed."

Krayg shook his head, planting eyes on his boots as they dug divots in the snow speckled grass. He lifted his head upon hearing the sounds of crunching footprints and sloshing stew. Emma handed out bowls as Yanwen concentrated on distributing the pot's contents with that intensity of hers.

The guards behaved themselves, keeping their vulgar remarks to themselves. Krayg suspected they wouldn't contain them long after the girls' departure.

Beron stared at the elf's retreating hindquarters and let out a low whistle as she bent to adjust her hold around the pot. "Begging pardon, but I shall have to disagree with you both. There's nothing repulsive about _that_."

All three gave Yanwen's body a thorough glance.

"The Maker put elves on this world to serve humans," Beron murmured with glazed eyes, "why shouldn't we allow them to serve us in every area?"

Marcus seemed lost in thought while Beron continued to noisily admire her form. Krayg was back to digging holes in the patchy snow as he drew hot spoonfuls. He didn't enjoy them acting as a couple of dogs in heat. It was below them. Giving the elf another swift glance, Krayg laid his half empty stew before his feet.

"There's nothing to look at," he finally muttered, so their curiosity could end. "I've seen, there's nothing there. You're just starved for it."

Beron scoffed, "That's rich, coming from _you_."

His patience was reaching its end.

"I did not lay with the elf."

Marcus barked a laugh.

"Maybe I'll see what all the fuss is about," he sneered. "How a high and mighty hothead like you could stoop so low—"

Krayg kicked his soup with a snarled curse. Its scalding heat layered the bastard's arm and he cried out in pain. Beron had risen to his feet, wide eyes staring at the scene as Marcus frantically swiped his arm along the snow.

Beron shoved Krayg's shoulder with his knee, but the act was not so aggressive as it was questioning, poking the resting beast with a stick.

"What the fuck, Krayg?" his voice was uneasy.

Clutching his reddened arm, Marcus glared with his lips tightened into a thin, pale line.

Krayg returned his stare.

"I did not lay with her."

"Right," Marcus rose from his seat. "You won't mind if I do, then."

"Go ahead."

"I will," he smiled malevolently, "when I'm off duty."

When they reached Minrathous.

So be it. Krayg didn't care. The defiant elf had it coming, anyway.

vVv

"Are you looking forward to being back with the master?"

Elen's voice was a soothing birdsong. It was high and fluttering and pleasant to listen to. Thus, it brought an odd mix of calm into the anxiety her words caused. With a subtle blink and twitching of her lips, Emma returned the smile.

"I am."

The elf's eyes brightened.

"How interesting," she mused with puckered lips. "You're almost lying."

Yanwen's brows rose, a finger picking at her teeth.

"Why almost not?" the elf bluntly asked. "Did you get into a fight before we left?"

"Oh," Elen laughed in amusement. It was disarming rather than provoking. "We're making her quite uncomfortable."

"How?" frowned Yanwen. "You don't want to be with him?"

"The Final Ritual didn't work," Mal murmured with a glance to Elen, "do you think?"

She shook her head.

"In my understanding, that isn't possible. I'm certain she's in love with him."

Emma was twisting at her fingers so hard, they ached. She forced her grimace to shape into a smile.

"Let's talk about something else."

Now frowning in thought, Elen studied the human's features. Emma felt as though her private thoughts must have been written in stark ink across her brow. That, or Elen possessed an intuition that was borderline magic.

"She's in love with him," Elen repeated in her amused chirp. "But something is preventing her from loving him wholly."

Perhaps, the best way to avoid further questioning would be to feed them an answer that would sate their curious hunger.

"I can't accept Danarius forcing me to love him," she sighed. "I don't know what's real and fake. There's no trust, I can't trust him."

Yanwen and Mal nodded gravely, accepting her reply. But Elen's thoughtful frown suggested she remained unconvinced. Emma had better be careful around her.

vVv

"So, now— it's a constant battle. I want her, and I consider her mine. But what she is now… Emma is someone else. She's become cold and callused and distrusting." Fenris swiped a hand along his brow, fingertips prodding at his temple. "I see glimpses of her— a playful smile or mischief in her eyes— and they make it all the more painful."

Imraddon was staring at the fire, while Thanron gazed at Fenris's face with utter amazement.

The elf had begun at their beginning, when Emma had first stepped into the dining chamber with bright eyes and bated breath. The story of their love unfolded before the fire, and Fenris seemed to dazedly watch its illustrations form in the flames. The stolen hours they shared and Fenris's relentless fear that they should be found out.

"Awful," Thanron cried again. "Rotten luck, that is!"

Fenris shook his head.

"No, I am very lucky," he murmured. "We all are, to have met her. I should be grateful of our time together and… move on, now that it is passed."

A moment of silence stretched.

"She is not _dead_!" Imraddon exclaimed hotly, "The way you carry on, one would believe her to be!"

vVv

There was a shadow in the hall. It lingered for a moment, quivering with the candlelight as it seemed to consider where a shadow ought go. Na Vanum lowered the glass from his lips and laid it to rest about the mortal books. One of the many that had been scattered about the cottage furnishings as Danarius instructed. No different than a small, impractical table. He waited while the shadow remained still, its curving shape giving way to its owner.

"Come in," he commanded.

The darkness disappeared to reveal the elf. She was quite a contrast to her shadow self, bright and colorful and brimming with an energy he'd love to sink his teeth into.

"What?"

"I left something of Larus's in here."

Vanum raised a brow.

"Then, get it."

Arathea smiled, "It's the book you're using to rest your beverage."

He lifted his glass and collected the book, studying its title.

"Why not read another book? Why intrude, if it's all the same to you? Any material is sufficient to learn from."

The elf folded hands before her robes, and Vanum took notice that they had changed from the drab, brown rags that made her lumpy and misshapen. Larus had purchased the happy garb that accentuated her figure in elegant swirls of fabric, thin at the waist and billowing out. A fine floral pattern of peaches and creams. Larus knew his elf's compliments.

"It isn't the same to me, master. I want to know what happens. And Larus has very few windows of time to read, so…"

"'So, hurry and give me the book'," Vanum smirked.

Arathea ignored his rendition and finished less crassly.

"So, I apologize for the intrusion, master, but we would like to read that book in particular."

Na Vanum studied her and brushed the book's corner against his lips. There was less fluttering in her mind, less chaos during their private exchanges. Driven by the interesting idea that he would not touch her beyond what she could bear. She reasoned that their time alone was ending, that Emma was returning to sate his appetite. An interesting idea, indeed.

"Between my windows and Larus's windows… you'll be learning at a greenhouse pace."

Arathea's features declined his offer before her mouth. A contort of worry across her brow.

"I could never ask you to—"

Na Vanum raised a hand.

"You won't have to. I'm offering."

She parted her lips.

"Do you insist, master?"

Translation: Am I allowed to refuse?

His lips stretched at the prospect.

"I insist."

vVv

Limbs uncertain, toes brushing loose dirt, pink toned contempt for the locks that fell into his eyes. This was their simple plan and not his. But he did as he was told. Complied with the extending of his arm, palm facing up to welcome hers. After mumbling his request, she turned an ear and asked him to repeat it. The second time, he took Thanron's advice:

"Dance with me."

He didn't ask.

"I insist."

vVv

Guest: You think? More darkness is to come.

ElyssaCousland: Since there are werewolves in Thedas, I don't know— there could be vampires, I guess. But that aside, Na Vanum isn't a vampire. We'll explore more of what he is in future chapters. I'm happy you love this story! And thanks for sticking around this long. Your reviews have really helped me organize my thoughts.

VickiHumpries10: Dun dun dun! He gobbles people up! I'm glad you enjoyed that development. Like I was telling Elyssa, it's the beginning of the part.

Ashangle: The slowmance is so slow. So, so, so slow. I've probably lost readers from how slow the slowmance is. But, alas, it's what I love to write. The only characters who rushed into their romance was Larus and Arathea. And THANK YOU for the huge compliment. It means so much that my rendition of Fenris seems close to the mark for you.

MirandaBasilisk: Arathea and Larus are happy as clams, no doubt, even with the former's current stress over the election. But unfortunately for Arathea, she has peaked Na Vanum's interest in a way no creature has before— not Fenris, not Nulam (Thanron's Mom), and not Emma. He finds her pure heart and innocence intoxicating, even though he hasn't quite grasped that fact yet. Thanks for reading!

mettalark: I'm sorry! But if it helps to know; I'm scribbling ideas for chapters during class and missing chunks of lecture, too. 79 chapters in three days? Mettalark, you are _my _queen. Thanks so much for getting this far into my story!


	81. Spit it out

vVv

Emma stared up at the elf.

His palm was wet in a sheen of sweat that made the goldness glow. The tips of his fingers were quaking as he held his hand before her. It revealed what his face concealed. His cool features were calm and no-nonsense, with that faint gleam of devilment in the emerald.

Fenris had forbade her to refuse with a voice that resonated in the cool air between them. There was something endearing about his insistence, and yet she couldn't stave the urge to challenge him.

Her lips pressed together in consideration, eyes narrowing into slits.

"Haven't we danced enough?"

In spite of the softening in his eyes, the gentle curve to his smile, Fenris roughly wrenched Emma from her perch, fingers tight around her wrist. She swallowed a gulp of air in her surprise, and expelled his name with an indignant cry. Promptly, their business settled, Fenris led her to the rolling heat of the campfire. Elves and guards were clustered about, swigging mead and swapping stories over the flame's roar.

"Hey!"

She attempted to unlock his fingers, but the elf's grip was sure. Their touching skin slickened with his sweat, and the backs of his pointed ears burned red. But when he turned to plant his feet before hers, again— the elf's smooth mask remained calm as ever. His gaze intently studied hers. Searched for something as he so often seemed to.

Emma shifted uncomfortably on her feet.

"There's no music," she mumbled distractedly.

Only the melody of conversation, bubbling along with the cracks and pops of the fire's percussion.

"There is."

The elf's hand slid down Emma's wrist to collect her fingers.

vVv

"Maker," Thanron scratched at the back of his head, "now that I know and all… it seems obvious." His hand dropped with a smack as he turned to Imraddon. "Do they know that's obvious?"

The two now throbbed like a freshly smashed thumb beneath the hammer's head. And the way they were standing! Fenris holding Emma's hand as they gazed into each other's eyes— when Thanron had told him to dance with her, he had meant to do so discreetly. When everyone else was dancing, for starters.

"We have to get everyone goin' around them— so they'll blend in. We don't want the guards catchin' wind of that mess."

Imraddon nodded in agreement, still staring at the two with poorly hidden disapproval.

Though the mead was slowing Thanron's thoughts to the last drip of molasses from a jar, he forced himself to concentrate. Music.

"Mal!"

Thanron strode to approach the elf, who stared up at him from the barrel of his cup.

"Too drunk t'play the lute?"

Mal lowered the pint and belched, shaking his shaggy mane.

"Never too drunk to play the lute."

The elf reached for Thanron to steady himself as he struggled to a stand, mumbling about needing to piss and puke first.

"You're alright," Thanron laughed at his retreating slump. Turning to Yanwen, he held out a hand. "You wanna dance?"

The swallow of mead stuck in her throat as she snapped her head up to answer. Yanwen's reply tumbled out in a fit of coughs, and she flushed around the effort of breathing. Thanron leaned to slap her back, but she shoved his arm away with a strained smile. "Yes," she finally croaked. "I would."

Thanron grinned and grabbed her hand, which was slick with mead spit, ignoring choked protests as he pulled the elf to her feet.

She said, "I'm embarrassed," and swiped a hand along her mouth.

"I'll bet," Thanron frowned in sympathy. "You gotta learn to keep it cool around handsome men like me."

Yanwen knocked her shoulder against his.

vVv

A lazy strum that —though spurred by the sloshed nature of its composer— induced an intoxicatingly relaxed step. It eased the unexplainable tension out of Emma's bones, soothing the stiffness that prevented her movement. She became butter that melted into smiles as the flames churned nearby. The elf was making her laugh. His normally articulate manner had slurred with lazy chuckles brushing her hair. Emma remembered a night in which he acted this way. Emma remembered to have enjoyed it.

"And… Krayg nearly fell from his horse. Do you… Emma," Fenris fell himself. Into a pit of shaking laughs. His fingers tightened around hers as he steadied himself. "Do you know how hard it is to glare at someone after they nearly fell from their horse?"

"You could have laughed," she suggested.

The elf leaned to search the cluster of guards,

"He's a bastard," he muttered, and Emma laughingly feared their eyes were met as he said it. "He used to keep to himself. But he's become such a bastard."

"You never met him before this?"

"Not really, no," Fenris fell back into step. "He lives in Minrathous. But he came down for the escort, and will most likely remain on post at Danarius' estate. He is a good guard. I will sleep better having him around—… and I will sleep worse having him around."

Emma giggled, "What does that mean?"

"It means that my sleep patterns will remain as they were."

The lute paused, and they both turned in time to see Mal reaching for his mead. Only to be shut down by Thanron, who promptly polished it off himself. Scowling, Mal resumed his playing.

Emma glanced up at Fenris, whose face suggested more sobriety than his words. A still calm, undeniably beautiful and stark against the plain world around him. His eyes met hers, and softened.

"What do you see when you look at me?"

She nearly tripped over his feet.

"What?"

The elf shrugged, undeterred as she yanked her hand out of his. He simply wound an arm around her waist and pulled her to him.

"Hm," he frowned at her face as she glared up at him. She was tempted to writhe out of his grip, deliver him a few good punches. But that would draw unwanted attention to them both. In her ponderings, Emma didn't realize he was studying her.

"Still not blushing," he observed, bringing a finger to trace her cheek.

Such intimate touches! Emma feared for them both. It was one thing that the elves would observe his intimacy, but it was an entirely different matter if the bloody guards caught wind— if _Krayg _caught wind. She risked a glance in the guard's direction, sighing in relief as she saw his attentions were elsewhere. Emma grabbed Fenris's foolish fingers and did her best to disguise their caress as she careened herself into a twirl. She imagined it appeared rather foolish.

"That was…interesting—"

"Stop it," she hissed, "You're being stupid. Do you want the others to find out?"

Fenris chuckled, and his breath moved the white hairs before his face.

"Find out what? You're not blushing."

"What are you talking about?" She dropped his hands. "What is wrong with you?"

Fenris paused. His smile slowly fell as he gazed at her, muscles moving beneath his jaw while he searched her face. Emma narrowed her incredulous glare as the music picked up into something more lively.

Elves were singing, clapping between laughs as Mal danced wildly along with his strumming, his black hair sticking to the sides of his face. Elen was clutching her sides as her knees buckled in laughter. A couple elves sat with drums in their laps, attempting to provide Mal's erratic song with a beat. The mabari watched it all with heavy lids.

Everyone was dancing with more energy now, bodies gleaming in the coldness as their movement warmed their limbs. Emma glanced up at Fenris to find him staring at her.

"What?" she snapped.

Unblinkingly, he asked Emma if she was thirsty. She sighed and supposed that whether she was thirsty or not, drinking might be the best course of action in company such as this. At least Emma could tolerate everything a little better.

vVv

Imraddon was jealous.

It made his neck hot to know the oaf was watching him while he grabbed Yanwen's hips and led her through the dance. Thanron didn't glance his way, not once. But the corners of blurring vision betrayed Imraddon's familiar scowl, his shoulders slumped the way he did when faced with defeat. It made his neck hot to know he was jealous.

And _that _pissed him off. Royally.  
Thanron couldn't dance with a girl in peace anymore.

He looked at Yanwen, and drew himself to look hard. He wasn't completely daft. Thanron knew the girl was soft on him. She always turned beet red and fumbled with her words when he neared. Thanron had always thought she was cute. Hard and tough on the outside, but a bowl of mushy porridge on the inside.

Kinda like Imraddon.

He dropped his head as shitty thoughts dumped their steaming load upon his mind.

Thanron was angry.

"What… are you doing?" Yanwen inquired rather feebly, and Thanron realized he had rested his brow upon hers.

"'Dunno," he answered softly, drawing back with a tired smile, "Been wonderin'."

She stared up at him with questioning eyes.

Maybe he should take her. Take her to the forest and do them all a favor. Maybe Imraddon should watch them _really _dance. As a man and a woman should.

She was a handsome girl, Yanwen. He shoulda looked at her more before—

Before what?

vVv

What was the meaning of this? Mead stuffed or no, how could he endanger them like this?

Upon their pints, she dragged him to the camp's edge. Though the party beckoned, Elen waving around an impatient smile, Emma could not leave the elf alone. Her eyes traced the lines of his face as they sat, waiting for a slip in his composure, ready to combat this new will of his. He was silent.

She needed time to cool her heated thoughts and shape them into logic.

Emma had thought to demand answers for his rash behavior. Who fed him these foolish ideas that he could touch her that way and how did they so easily overthrow his hard resolve?

What silenced her was the sadness in his gaze as he followed happy dancing. Each time he drew from his cup, it seemed as though he was reaching. He was attempting to grasp at something and pull himself to it. Perhaps, happy dancing.

No room for sharp questions, he was too fragile tonight.

As the minutes ticked by, Emma's cheeks deepened in color. The weight of guilt was positioning itself on her shoulders, in the form of a simple, obvious, and painful recollection.

He was returning to his master tomorrow.

He was returning to being his slave. Of course his head would be a mess over it. Of course he would reach for happy times before tomorrow.

Emma impulsively shoved his foot with hers. As she stared at the lyrium veins that trailed to where his toes began, she felt his questioning stare.

"I am not going to apologize," he finally stated with a clearer voice than she had expected. Fenris thought she had pressed for an explanation to his actions. As she had originally planned.

"Emma."

She lifted her head, only to drop it upon meeting too intense a gaze. His emerald stare was stirring something unpleasant again. That itching feeling.

"I no longer believe that I am a disease to you."

Emma shook her head without deciding to do so, eyes following the lines that disappeared into his greaves. Was she confirming his declaration, or denying it?

"He is the disease, Emma," his voice was softening to compensate the gravity of his words. The itching feeling grew and she distractedly scratched between her breasts. "His blood flows inside of you, laying claim to your mind."

"I know."

"A part of you does not."

Now, who was pressing whom? The itching became a burning sensation beneath her skin. Unexplainable and increasingly… painful. She reached for her pint to numb it, and Fenris swiftly knocked it over with his foot. Emma watched its contents seep into the snow.

"I'm trying."

"You must try harder to defy him."

That was not what she meant. Not that she understood herself at the moment, either.

"For whose sake should I defy him?" Emma glanced up in time to see him twitch at the implication. His jaw jumped before he continued.

"Yours."

The burning was making her grimace. It was unignorable now.

"Not mine."

"Emma," he was angry. "My… feelings for you— and your _safety _are not on the same spectrum."

She had to laugh at that, but it left her lips in a whimper of pain as embers rose beneath her flesh.

"You embraced me. Is that to protect me from him?"

"A moment of weakness," he spoke around a stiff mouth. "I am still trying to adapt to—"

She repeated his earlier words,

"You must try harder."

Fenris sighed, "Point taken. It is difficult. But you cannot allow him to force himself on you, even with the blood—"

"Do you hear yourself speak, Fenris?"

He blinked.

"I would never—"

"You are doing so now."

Fenris stared in silent fury, his features smooth, yet somehow conveying his desire to shake her. Emma stared back.

"You must know, at the very least— I want to help you."

A retort lay on her tongue, but she swallowed it back. Of course, she knew he was trying to help her. He was always protecting her. He wanted to. The acknowledgement left her in a flashing heat.

"I know."

They sat in silence, each trying to work out their own mind's puzzle, missing pieces.

All the while, Emma breathed in the cold air in repeated attempts to extinguish the flames within her.

vVv

"Where are you going?" she called above the music, and Thanron realized he was walking away.

"Sorry."

Who was he apologizing to? For what?

"Why?" Imraddon asked, and Thanron realized he was standing before Imraddon with his hands in his trouser pockets.

The oaf knew why, and better than Thanron, because his voice was chock full of doubt.

"You're really drunk, aren't you?"

But Imraddon didn't seem like the straightest shooting arrow, himself. His lips were glistening with the last swig, and his eyes were rimmed with the faintest red. Hard features softened as the fire's light brightened his flush, his stark sincerity. Thanron was taller when Imraddon sat and he liked that.

"Afraid?"

It sounded like a threat to them both.

Imraddon's eyes grew stormy beneath their glare.

"You can be so…" he lowered his head.

Thanron finished for him.

"Selfish. Yeah, but you know that, so don't act surprised. D'you wanna dance?"

"Shut up."

"I wanna dance with you." He raised hands to cup around his mouth, shouting "_Hey Mal, play a slow so—_"

A hissed, "_Thanron._"

Mal turned to him and the music stuttered as he formed the word, "What?"

"_I said, play us a slow—_"

"Fine! Just, shut up!" he spat, reaching to strike him. "I'll dance with you, shut up! Maker's breath."

Thanron watched with a smile as Imraddon threw back his mead in a few hurried gulps, a ribbon of the stuff running down his chin. He wanted to follow its path to his mouth.

"There ya go."

Imraddon ordered him to shut up again behind the hand that wiped his mouth.

"One song."

"Sure."

He allowed Thanron to lead him into the throng. People didn't turn heads, dancing partners were pretty mixed, but Thanron wasn't in the mind to give a damn.

Mal's ongoing seizure wasn't the kind of music he wanted to dance to with Imraddon. But then, what kind of music was he and Imraddon meant to dance to? The oaf looked stiff as a bored— this was a bad idea, Thanron determined, as they stopped to stand before each other. Imraddon eyed him expectantly.

Thanron stared back at him and he was trembling. He was so angry.

What if he hit him? What if he pulled him down into the snow and drew his blood? And what if he forced his tongue inside his mouth? Like before, and dug his nails into his skin. What if he— damn near spilled a prayer of thanks as the Maker graced him. Mal decided then and there to lower the tempo.

It was still upbeat, but better.

Thanron began to sway from side to side, and Imraddon watched for a bit in pained silence, his nose wrinkled with distaste. It wasn't helping Thanron's resolve to sway from side to side. He moved closer to Imraddon, who promptly took a step back.

"I forgot why I agreed to this."

The words came to Thanron and the mead suggested he say them. So he did.

"Because you'd rather I dance with you than Yanwen."

Imraddon flinched and fury flashed across his features. He didn't look so cute and vulnerable anymore. And he was taller, standing up.

"I am not dancing with you to prevent an innocent girl's happy evening."

Thanron poked his cheek with his tongue and glanced at the elf's planted feet.

"You're not dancin' at all, Imra."

"Correct."

Imraddon shoved past him. Thanron stared at his prints in the snow.

He raised eyes to see Yanwen sitting upon a log, marking divots in the frosted grass with her shoe. She looked sad.

Imraddon was mad.

That blew up in his face. Or maybe it went exactly as planned.

What had he been trying to accomplish?

And why, throughout it all, had he wanted to pound something into dust? Thanron couldn't remember the last time he was so angry. He had wanted to start a fight with Imraddon as much as kiss him. And Yanwen, too. Thanron had wanted to hurt her. For not being enough.

He was confused. And angry. And tired.

Hoping for Imraddon's sake that he had decided to cool down someplace away from their tent, Thanron sought its refuge.

Empty.

Good.

Thanron pissed and crawled inside.

Men shouldn't dance together.

vVv

A white haze floated between them as the clouds emptied themselves. One didn't require feelings toward Fenris to acknowledge that he was beautiful among the flakes, emerald gems piercing through the white.

He seemed about to say something. His eyes narrowed a fraction and he straightened his back. Emma kept his eyes with a nodding invitation. Spit it out.

"Emma…" Fenris struggled with words, brow furrowing as he reached to trace his markings. "There is something I've been wanting to tell you. Before we return to him."

The snowfall thickened, and Emma moved closer to see him better.

"Yes?"

"I think the spell is only surface deep."

Her lips puckered in confusion.

"I think the spell doesn't change what is there, but," his frown deepened, "rather casts a veil to hide it from you."

This was beginning to sadden her, the anger dimming to accommodate the sincerity in his wishful thinking. The poor man was grasping at straws.

"And it is as if you forget any feeling for me as it occurs."

Her eyes fell to his feet, bare against the snow. Emma couldn't look at him. This was a private and naked display that she wasn't meant to witness. The tumbling thoughts that consoled him. The lies he told himself. It was almost unbearable to listen.

"I wonder if the spell would have broken if I died."

Emma flinched, glaring at the words.

"That day, I saw the despair in you. It wasn't the sorrow one feels for a persistent elf that they detest. It was anguish. It was agony."

Emma's eyes widened as a jolt of pain cut through her chest. Turning to gaze at the snow that settled atop her feet, Emma was crushed by the memory. His voice became a distant rumble.

_She choked on a strangled gasp as she took in the sight. He seemed as though death had already claimed him. _

_His skin had paled and his lips had taken a blue hue where they weren't saturated with blood. He was soaked in it, redness engulfing the once white snow where he lay. Emma called his name in a breathless croak. He couldn't really be dead, after all._

_Seizing his shoulders with trembling hands, Emma tried to shake him to consciousness._

"_Wake up," she demanded again, "Fenris. Wake up!"_

"Am I foolish to think that was love?"

Emma raised a hand to stifle the pain that nearly pushed past her lips in short breaths. The memory flooded her, bringing her back to almost losing the elf.

"Surely, you had not begged me to live so you could torture me."

She shook her head.

"Emma? Tell me I'm wrong and I will stop."

"I don't know," she gasped as something stumbled inside her. "I don't remember."

"Yes, you do. Think."

Emma was filled with excruciating heat, veins pushing lava and heart pumping thunder.

"Fenris," she whispered, "I don't remember."

"Emma."

The snow was melding into a blur of searing white pain before her eyes.

"Stop."

Folded memories, stretched lips exposing teeth, Danarius intertwined with black fear and lust, something real as lyrium strokes her skin, its hum numbing her limbs, Fenris mingled with something sinister as he licks the blood that rims his lip.

She cried out as her body was wracked by cruel pain. A hand enclosed her searching fingers as the roaring flames licked her flesh. Emma bit back the scream and whimpered a broken plea for release.

Danarius was forced to the forefront of her thoughts, and she was too weak to shove him back. She wanted him. He could soothe the fire that burned her flesh…

No.

He put the fire there.

"Emma!"

And Fenris fanned the flames.

vVv

All he could think to do was collect her writhing body in his arms. She moved against his grip like a fish out of water, but his arms only tightened in response. Snow obscured faces turned to watch them pass, words of question pushed through flakes. Fenris only mumbled a few incoherent words in reply.

He lay the human down upon her bedroll, as gently as possible with her thrashing limbs. Such violence in movement would accompany screams, but Emma only whimpered and drew short breaths. Fenris stared at his wounded prey in guilt, his muzzle painted with her blood.

It was wrong to push her.

The spell was powerful magic overseen by a powerful magister.

Fenris was a selfish fool to think he could break it so easily.

But he could try to soothe her now, as she moved against the sheets. Her face was coated with a sheen of sweat, skin pale beneath. Amber eyes wide, and then screwed into slits of pain, while she fought helplessly against something he could not see. The guilt of causing her suffering stabbed him, the breathless sobs twisting the blade in its bone sheathe.

"Emma."

It was going to be painful, but he was going to swallow it. This needed to be undone.

"Tomorrow, you will be with Danarius."

Emma met his eyes for a small second and he was relieved to find recognition flashing in their depths.

"Tomorrow, we reach Minrathous. Where your husband waits for you."

Breaths stopped leaving her so forcibly, and her thrashing stilled so she could better listen.

"Danarius will be…" Fenris glanced away, grinding his teeth. Her fast coming calm, her instant consolation upon hearing his name, gutted him. The stark contrast of Emma's reaction to his love was maddening.

"He has missed you very much."

Tears flowed more softly from her eyes as she watched Fenris beneath half closed lids. Then, after a few more gentle promises, they closed completely.

Fenris watched her face smooth into peacefulness. As it should have remained on their last night alone. He had acted a child.

"A thousand apologies, my love."

vVv

Yanwen caught a splinter from tracing the pint's wooden rim, and she drew the finger for inspection with a frown.

Her chest was sending waves of aching to all but her teeth.

Krayg was staring at her again. Tonight might be the night he slits her throat. Tonight might be the night she doesn't mind. She plucked out the splinter and wiped at a tear.

She recognized Elen's hands as they fell into hers.

"Mal thinks you need a threesome."

Yanwen sniffed,

"Mal doesn't know his mead from his piss right now." The lute had played him out and he lay a drunken heap, rough snores leaving his mouth in a chain of snorts.

Elen coaxed her to a stand.

"I've told you, sweet one, he's not for you."

Yanwen nodded, face wrinkling with the threat of tears.

"Doesn't make it hurt less," Elen agreed with a soft smile.

She nodded again and the tears fell.

When Yanwen felt a prick of him, she glanced at Krayg. Sure enough, he was staring. His mouth was twisted in a smirk of satisfaction. Yanwen lifted a hand to cover her face.

vVv

Her voice startled Fenris; he slightly jolted against his bedroll.

"I will try harder. But, slowly. It hurts to think about."

The elf couldn't respond immediately. He scrambled for a phrase that would allow her thoughts to continue.

"Yes. I will, too."

vVv

The camp was a quiet humming of hushed voices, snores, and the guards' gentle crunch of snow. Thanron lay awake, ears perked and straining to hear Imraddon's familiar sound. Hours swept in the night cold, and still not the smallest sign of him. With so much time to himself, Thanron's mind began to replay the evening over'n'over in a punishing loop. His cheeks grew hotter each time he heard himself insult his best friend.

"_Because you'd rather I dance with you than Yanwen."_

Imraddon had seemed so hurt by that. Betrayed by Thanron's accusation.

And it was no secret:

Thanron pinched his affection between two fingers and held it before Imraddon's nose, pulling away each time the elf reached out to grab it.

He couldn't recognize that until after it happened. During the evening, he had been so angry and ready to pull Imraddon down with him. The mornings of wantin' the elf as he stretched beside him, watchin' him cook with one hand holding open the tent flap and the other down his trousers… it was weighing heavy as bricks upon him.

It used to be that he loved him like a brother. An older brother that nagged for him to clean his teeth, watch his manners, and wake before breakfast. The one that washed his mouth out with soap when he said his first "fuck". Imraddon used to be family. But after the confession— no, that's a lie…

Some time before that, Thanron had started to look at him a different way.

He tossed off his blanket and crawled into the night. Imraddon was smart, he wouldn't have wandered off too far by himself.

Then again, he could have probably wandered into a darkspawn lair and come out drinkin' tea, the way he could fight. Even so— Thanron hugged himself, grimacing as a gust of wind rattled his bones— Imraddon'll catch cold in this.

Thanron was worried about him. He'd say sod it, if the oaf was just some oaf. But he was Imraddon, and Thanron was getting more and more worried each time he rounded a tree and Imraddon wasn't there scolding him for forgetting a blanket.

Yeah.

Some time before Imraddon told him, Thanron had already seen him a different way. The day of a storm, when Thanron first found that his eyes mirrored the sky in a swirl of thundering clouds. Beautiful, Thanron realized.

And after that, he started to notice more things about Imraddon that were beautiful. Not just the way he looked, but the way he was. His kindness was intoxicating. It infected his mind more surely than anything else. And Thanron had begun to think about how perfect it would be if Imraddon was a woman. He'd have given up on Arathea in a heartbeat to pull Imraddon the Woman into his bed.

But now, Thanron was beginning to think he liked Imraddon just the way he was. He was starting to wonder why what dangled between the bugger's legs had anything to do with… anything.

And that scared him out of his wits.

He delved into the trees and grunted as a branch slapped him in the face. Thanron deserved that one; he pretended that was from Yanwen. No need to fake one from Imraddon, though, 'cause he was probably about to be given the real deal.

Snow filled his boot as Thanron fell shin deep into a pit of snow. He cursed the skies and pulled himself out, teeth knocking together as he clutched his arms tighter.

"Imraddon, come on," he pleaded softly. "You're gonna freeze out here."

He really hoped it wasn't cold enough for Cold Man, what with how long Imraddon has been out. Thanron imagined he was probably blue in the face.

Thanron rounded another thicket of trees.

He stopped dead, legs still stretched in his next step.

There was no need to have worried about Imraddon being cold. His cheeks were flushed, hot air leaving his lips in a cloud.

Thanron was afraid to move. Or maybe he couldn't.

Imraddon was…

Leaned up against a tree, head rested along its bark and pumping himself into his fist. That's what he was doing. He breathed deeply, lips clamping together and eyes fluttering around… what he was feeling.

Then, he tensed up, brow furrowing as he glared daggers at the space of snow before him. Like it had stolen his cookie.

He sure was an angry wanker.

vVv

Imraddon was shouting curses on the inside.

Immediately upon seeing Thanron's dark mass of hair in his peripheral, as well upon hearing his choked cough of surprise, Imraddon decided that the best thing he could do was pretend he didn't see Thanron standing there, gaping like an idiot. That way Thanron could safely leave and they could both pretend they had not been here.

The problem was that Thanron did not leave.

He continued to stand there, staring.

Why the fuck wouldn't he leave?

And, much as it mortified and enraged him, Imraddon was experiencing new heights of pleasure because of it. Regardless of how good it felt, Thanron needed to leave. He quickly thought of something to repel him off, since clearly watching a man masturbating against a tree wasn't enough for him.

vVv

Thanron's eyes had glazed as he watched him, and it required every ounce of his willpower to stop a hand from reaching into his own trousers. His erection strained against the fabric, rolling waves of pleasure weakening his knees.

And then, Imraddon said his name.

vVv

There.

A man grunting his name in lust ought to startle him into leaving.

Thanron did not. He remained as before.

Imraddon spoke his name again.

And… still. He— tried again. This was proving to be too much. Shocker that saying the name of the man he loved as he stood there watching him masturbate was proving to be too much. Imraddon was going to—

vVv

He watched Imraddon's teeth press against his bottom lip, hair shielding his eyes as his head bent. Pleasure visibly wracked him and his body jerked, causing him to move more erratically into his quickening hand. His lips glistened as he lifted his head to sigh, emptying his load in stings atop the snow.

vVv

Maker, this had escalated from its escalation. He waited a moment, shivering in the aftershocks, before tucking himself back into his pants.

Then, he turned to meet the flinching gaze of Thanron.

Forget saving the idiot embarrassment. He no longer deserved it.

vVv

Without a single strand of surprise, Imraddon flatly spoke,

"Oh, my. Whenever did you get here?"

Thanron sputtered upon realizing that his presence had been no shadow.

He ducked behind a tree and scooped a handful of snow up in his hands. Thanron then pulled the waist of his trousers away to let it fall against his erection. The elf had done this without a smidge of thought and regretted it instantly. He cried out.

"What? What is it?"

Imraddon's crunching footprints neared his tree.

Shaking frantically at his trousers, he attempted to guide the snow out his pant leg.

"If I'd known you came out here to be a pervert, I wouldn'tve come looking for you. In this," he shook his pants harder, "damn cold."

"_I _am the pervert for walking into the woods, far from camp. Not _you_, peeping around a tree."

Imraddon's reply was too close. Thanron darted behind a further tree.

"What are you doing?" he called.

It wasn't going down. He kept thinking about Imraddon's face as he… and it wasn't going down, for Maker's sake.

Thanron shook his head. _Damn it_. If someone would have told him a year ago that he'd be hiding an erection from Imraddon — caused by watching the oaf jerk off — Thanron would have punched that someone in the throat.

"I'll meet you back at camp!"

"Why? There is something I need to— hey!"

The elf was sprinting off, arms flailing shoving against trees for propulsion.

vVv

Imraddon watched Thanron's mad escape with narrowed eyes. It was as though sword wielding darkspawn chased inches behind. Was he that traumatized by what he'd seen? _Why didn't he leave_?

He growled and raced to catch him.

vVv

Thanron's foot was caught by a vengeful tree root. When he heard the sound of hard steps behind him, he frantically scrambled to a stand and darted ahead.

As he sprinted on, he could no longer hear a second pair of crunches mingling with his. Thank the Maker, he dodged the arrow—

Imraddon emerged from the trees, a terrifying three paces ahead, shoving aside the branches that scattered snow. Turning on his heels, Thanron started in the opposite direction.

Arms wrapped around his waist as Imraddon lunged for him and they both collapsed into the snow. Huffing and puffing, limbs tangled with his pursuer, Thanron reached for a tree root to yank himself out from under Imraddon. But he was stronger. Something Thanron had never fully acknowledged before. Of _course_ Imraddon was stronger and faster than Thanron.

He was whipped around like a sack of flour, forced to meet eyes that matched the sky above, in both deep clouds and anger. Thanron's face heated furiously as his thrashed beneath him, trapped in an iron lock. He turned his head to the arm that braced his own against the snow and sank his teeth in the flesh.

Imraddon growled,

"That hurts."

The reply, "good", was muffled.

"Listen."

Thanron twisted beneath him, still attempting in vain to get away. He met eyes with Imraddon as he strained to remove his wrist from the elf's grip.

Suddenly, Imraddon's face slackened in awe of something. His body relaxed from its effort to restrain him, and Thanron was able to wiggle out. He stood, wary eyes fixed on Imraddon's expression of shock. Then, he realized where Imraddon was staring.

He'd forgotten in the struggle. Thanron kicked snow into Imraddon's face, who raised a hand to shield his eyes.

"What'd you need to say?" he snapped. "Spit it out."

Imraddon gazed up at him, still wearing that infuriating look of bewilderment.

"Speak up!" Thanron shouted, ears hot.

The elf's eyes cleared as pushed himself into a slow stand. Thanron felt small again. His fists trembled at his sides. Thanron glowered at the ground, he couldn't look at the elf.

"Since it's so important that you have to humiliate me, I better hear it."

Imraddon's voice was soft'n'sorry.

"I lied."

Raising his head, Thanron furrowed his brow in angry confusion.

He clarified in a sigh.

"I was jealous. I did agree to dancing to prevent you from doing so with Yanwen. I was angry, because I hadn't realized it at the time. And the truth hurts. I'm… also sorry for tackling you." His eyes fell to Thanron's crotch, "If it is any consolation, your erection is gone."

Voice flat, he replied, "Thanks for keepin' an eye on it."

"Anytime."

His nuts ached now, enough to reach his stomach. But Thanron's edges had softened during Imraddon's admission.

"I'm sorry for being a prick all night. And for…"

"Mm," Imraddon glanced away, brows pulling together as his cheeks colored, "If you don't mind my asking, did you enjoy wa—"

"I mind."

"Fair enough."

vVv

_Coda - Dustin O'Halloran_

_Hey! S'been a bit, so extra long chapter._

_ Next chapter is Minrathous. And a new part for the story. _

_ Thanks for reading this far in! This has become a lot longer than I intended. But it's so hard _not _to get lost in my character's ongoings. They have a completely separate agenda than me, and at times, it's annoying. Most times, it's incredibly fun._

_ 10: I swear I type out your full username each reply. For some reason, it gets cut to 10 half the time. Anyways. I was surprised, too. But I decided Imraddon needed to know for certain things to take place. Thanron might as well know, too. Why not? He'd never tell a soul. Plus, Fenris was becoming a little lost in his head. He needed a little bro time. _

_ ElyssaCousland: Yeah, Krayg is extremely ignorant about lots of things, but I agree— super cute. Same with Thanron._

_ datajana: You're right, dark things are coming. And light things._

_ Lady Velvet C. Peterson: Glad I could assist in some relaxation time, and thanks right back atcha!_


	82. Welcome

vVv

His lips expelled whistling keys as Danarius hummed them in his head. A constant recurring reminder that today was the day. Emma and Fenris were close. Na Vanum could hardly focus on shuffling through payments and letters— not even _his _payments and letters to fuss about. His chest hammered with excitement.

Larus mumbled, "Someone's happy," around the rim of his mug.

Na Vanum swiftly glanced at him before turning back to sorting the mail with a shrug. "Not me. Danarius. And his feelings are infectious. Happiness, so much as anger."

The healer raised an intrigued brow.

"You, yourself, are not at all looking forward to seeing her?"

The demon snorted.

"I haven't a taste."

Larus chuckled.

"She's a sweet girl. Arathea's up there doing twirls of excitement."

Pausing, Na Vanum swept the quill feather's tip across his chin.

"That one is always twirling. Speaking of which," he plucked a letter from the table and tossed it into Larus's lap. "The court date is set. In two months, the twirling elf is no longer my slave."

Larus set aside his tea and opened the parchment

"We agreed, she is already mine."

The demon turned back to the mail before his smile could betray him. Larus didn't know that Arathea had begun her descent of the wooden staircase. That she had paused, one hand on the railing with a slight frown about her lips, eyes dimming in their light. That a touch of hurt had drawn her brows together upon hearing the phrase _she is already mine_.

Larus made it too easy, saying senseless things about a slave. Any woman who had been free all her life would have flushed around a smile. But it is probable that Arathea belonged to someone since the instant she slid between her mother's legs. The response she had been hoping for was,

"We agreed that Arathea will be her own in two months. Belonging to you is just a formality, so she does not get snatched up."

He knew the blood had rushed to her face then. He could smell it.

Larus lowered the parchment with a small frown.

"Well, of course she will be her—"

Na Vanum did not allow the words to reach her ears.

"Hello, twirling creature," the demon's lips stretched into a smile. "That is a fine dress. Orlesian, perhaps?"

Arathea lifted the corner hem of her dress, studying the fabric with a distant gaze.

"I'm not certain, master," she spoke quietly. "Perhaps."

Larus rose from his chair with a stroke of his pants.

"Then, you're ready?" he held out a hand as she continued to pinch her dress and examine its stitching. "Arathea."

The hem dropped to rejoin her legs.

She blinked, "Yes," and accepted his hand.

Larus was just about to speak the words, when the demon stole them from his throat.

"Emma and Thanron will be so happy to see you."

The healer's mouth formed a surprised smile.

"How odd, I was just about to say the same…"

Arathea was staring at Na Vanum.

He was delighted to find a rare flare of anger in the doe eyes.

She knew his plot…

and still, she flushed.

vVv

And there it floated, a catapult's throw away.

Minrathous was a grand island metropolis, soon off the shore. It sang and flared beneath the sinking sun, sparks of magic shooting up in frequent bursts. Magic buzzed like energy currents in the air, tickling Emma's skin. She could hear people within; what sounded like a _million _people. An unruly chorus of sound mixed with creaking cart wheels, thumping footsteps, and an endless shouting. It was positively chaotic and they hadn't even reached the gates. Emma sank deeper in her seat.

Their group approached the long bridge that separated quiet shore and screaming capital, many eyes wary as they walked above the sea. Emma leaned further out the window to see the ocean twist and curl below.

Thanron tipped his head far back to gaze — open mouthed and drooling— at the great city structures. Eventually, the elf simply stretched himself out on Pig's back, arms folded behind himself as he stared in amazement.

Drawing back inside, Emma lowered her body to the seat cushion. Elbows popping, arms trembling. She pressed her brow against velvet and sucked slow breaths through her teeth. How ironic that she had hated being confined inside this box, and now, she dreaded leaving its safety.

"It's going to be alright," she spoke quietly, lips brushing softness. "Everything's alright."

Emma closed her eyes and saw the lazy smile curl at his lips. The thin lines that formed around his eyes when he laughed. That scent, like he'd rolled in a pile of fresh picked flowers. And his loving gaze. Their love mingling with their blood.

Too cruel to know that such a love was fake. Forced. That without the Final Ritual, Emma would have felt nothing but contempt for his trapping her. The knowledge wove an aching fear between the strands of happiness. Confusing, disorienting anxiety. She whimpered.

"I will defy it."

It was just an incantation. A filthy swap of blood. The Final Ritual was not Emma.

vVv

Yanwen cried out in shocked horror as she watched Krayg kick an inquiring beggar with his boot. She had seen the boy's approach — only a child — and the trembling movement of his lips as he held a small hand toward the copper sore. Two seconds later, he was sprawled out on the cobblestone, clutching his head and moaning with pain.

"You—!" she shoved through the herd to reach them, and a few elves hissed protest, _leave it alone, Yanwen, we're in Minrathous now! _Yanwen shoved away the hands that wrapped around her arms. They would have let Fenris stop it. Or Thanron. But Fenris did nothing but scowl and Thanron lay across his horse in back.

She wasn't scared of Krayg.

Elen reached hands to grab her wrist, and Yanwen stopped to glare at the elf.

"Don't be a fool, Yanwen."

"Let go."

She did let go and Yanwen closed the distance between her and—

"Krayg!" the elf shouted. She bent to place a hand upon the beggar's back, "You coward!"

The copper sore lowered cold eyes to hers. As Yanwen helped the coughing boy to his feet, she felt his intent gaze, a silent studying.

"Are you alright?"

Yanwen could identify the boy's features as half elf and half human.

"Um—umo pal cavanum."

Yanwen ignored his request to leave him be. She instead snatched the water pouch from Krayg's horse and brought it to the boy's lips.

One guard behind Krayg was snickering. She lifted her head to find that the second guard stared at her strangely. The one called Marcus.

Krayg's mouth twitched in anger.

In a flash, he left his horse and grabbed a fistful of Yanwen's hair, thrusting her to the ground. She dropped the waterskin and it splashed against her thighs. The boy left her side in a wobbled frenzy, disappearing into a back alley, and Yanwen bit back a yelp of pain as Krayg yanked hard at her hair. He bent at the knees and leaned to murmur,

"The boy is lucky I was the man he approached."

Krayg's fist tightened his grip.

"The two men behind me would have taken his head. If the boy has any sense, he will learn never to approach another human for coin."

He released Yanwen after shoving her face against the stone.

"In return for saving my life, I'll say this:"

Yanwen lifted her face, cheek throbbing and body trembling with anger.

"Learn your place quickly, or you won't reach your master's estate in one piece."

She heard Thanron's distant call from the back:

"What's the hold up?"

Krayg rose to his feet and stared at her before turning to nod once at Fenris. She watched his boots as he stepped to mount his horse.

"Welcome to Minrathous, elf." Yanwen glared at the cobblestones. "Now, get up and keep your mouth shut."

vVv

The nasally half-wit of a messenger hurried to walk beside the elf's horse.

"Lord Danarius commands you to ride ahead. Hasten to meet him alone."

Fenris gripped the reins tight, leather whining around his fingers.

He kicked his horse into a near run through the streets.

vVv

Minrathous was crawling with miserable sights. A woman lay naked and dead in the street, and her rotting flesh rose to stir Emma's stomach. Children wandered, crying pleas to anyone who would listen, their features obscured by thick layers of dirt and swollen flesh. Women and men adorned in mostly skin smiled at the guards as they passed, running hands over their bodies. But the pain in their eyes was unmistakeable. The humiliation.

The city's grand beauty became a painted mask to shield its hideous face. The giant, stained glass chantry with its pearly columns and long marble staircase couldn't hide the man that sobbed at its steps. Simmering, rich meat, expertly seasoned with the finest herbs— they made Emma nearly gag when seeing the excruciating hunger in an onlooking child. The sharp, handsome faces they passed were made ugly by the beaten men, women, and children that followed close behind.

Elves were treated like garbage here. Their corpses were swept up with the rest of the filth. Like they weren't flesh and blood.

vVv

She saw it before the human merchant did. A quick fingered girl with sunken cheeks and a desperate need for the cheese she plucked from his wares. A small sliver. Less than the chunk Danarius used to give them. The elf began to slink away, eyes wide with panic. Just as Yanwen felt safe to sigh, the merchant's head snapped up and he lunged over his wares.

Tomatoes fell, splatting against the ground, while apples rolled along cobblestone. But, important to the human merchant was the sliver of cheese that the elf dropped with a frantic cry— his fingers now wrapped around her wrist and yanking her back. Yanwen could not hear what he said, but the elf shrunk at the words hissed into her ear. The merchant reached for his cleaver.

"Look away, Yanwen," Elen's fingers tugged at her hand. "You cannot interfere, so look away."

She looked at Krayg, who stared at her in wait, one hand on his sword. He didn't flinch when the elf's scream ripped through the air between them. She did. She stared up at him, teeth piercing the fist she held to her mouth and filling it with blood. Yanwen watched his eyes follow the red trail down her arm.

She turned when the elf's eyes were rolling back into her head. The blood left her wrist in long, heavy squirts.

Mal wound an arm around her waist and helped her on, Elen murmuring in her ear.

Yanwen whispered, "I hate it here."

vVv

"Thanron…"

The elf was climbing down from his horse.

"Are you alright?"

Clearing his throat, Thanron glanced up to nod once. His skin had taken to a green hue.

"Don't wanna ride with them—" he stared at his feet, as he led Pig on, "lookin' at me like that."

Imraddon met the eyes of a pleading elf and climbed down from his horse to walk beside Thanron.

vVv

He growled, "Fenris," to the guard who demanded his name.

Lowering his sword, he motioned for the gates to be opened.

Fenris tethered his horse to be gathered with the rest and scowled at the cottage that was trying so hard. A sign might as well have been plastered to its face, reading "This is a cozy place where you can feel safe". He wondered if it would render the desired reaction from the girl. Or if she would perceive it a Ferelden mockery. Minrathous, playing dress-up.

He hurried up the steps and wrenched the door open before the fretful guard could do so for him.

The inside was even more exhausting to behold than the outside. He stepped further into the array of stitched rugs and wooden tables. Books strewn about and candles at the end of their wick. Danarius had really outdone himself with the charade. He wondered if he would require the elves to wear petticoats and speak with a Ferelden tongue. Thanron would blend nicely here.

"How much time have we?"

Fenris contained the curled finger of a chill as it trailed down his spine. It was Na Vanum that greeted him. Eyes black as scorched coals. But he was tame. Allowing Danarius to pull himself to the surface. That was good. He had feared the demon's state in so long an absence. One less thing for him to worry about when he reunited the newlyweds.

"Ten minutes, master."

"Then, stop dawdling and follow me."

"Yes, master."

He stepped behind Na Vanum, studying the back of his head. He focused his thoughts on things that didn't matter, knowing the demon would be strong enough to search his mind. Fenris dwelt on food and the obscene cottage decor.

"We are in agreement," Na Vanum opened the door to a room overflowing with books. "This house is obscene in its attempts to console."

Once inside, Fenris made quick work of his armor, shrugging the metal and leather to the floor. The demon was wearing a weary expression as he watched him undress, waving a hand in beckon when Fenris finished.

He grabbed both sides of his face when the elf neared, pulling him to join their lips. The lyrium hummed beneath his skin, and Na Vanum opened his robes to allow the markings to meet his flesh. Soon after, his gaze was blue.

Danarius heaved a long sigh, lids closing as his rolled his shoulders.

"He'll be in control very soon, I'd wager. Something strange is happening. Neither of us can work it out."

Fenris narrowed his eyes. He still did not know Hadriana's plot. With Danarius back at the reins, he was safe to ponder whether or not the magister should be warned. What was the best route for Emma? Perhaps he should consult with Demetri…

"Bend over that desk."

Fenris crossed the room to brace arms against its wooden surface, head dropping to follow the patterns in its grooves. He heard the sound of Danarius spitting into his fingers, flinching as they penetrated him.

Fenris lowered himself to lay his brow against scattered parchment and closed his eyes.

"Anything I should know beforehand?"

The elf's nails dug into the wood as Danarius pushed himself inside.

"Ugh—" he shuddered against the desk, "We lost an elf and a guard during an— attack," Fenris bit the inside of his cheek as the magister plunged deeper.

"Who?"

"Raina…Bentley."

"Shame," hot breath tickled the back of his neck as Danarius leaned to press kisses at its nape. He reached a hand to touch the bandage that wrapped around the elf's chest. "Were these injuries severe?"

"Yes, master."

The magister froze inside him, a growl pushed through teeth.

"What happened?"

"An ambush by bandits."

Danarius drew himself out with a hissing sigh. Turning Fenris by the arm to face him, he hurriedly removed the bandage.

He inspected the gash with a furrowed brow and muttered, "Never allow yourself to be so careless, pet."

"Yes—"

"Larus will see to it," he sighed and rewrapped the wound. "Was Emma hurt?"

"She was burned in another attack. Deranged magister. It has healed."

Danarius was staring at him beneath the hand that rubbed his brow.

"That'll do for now, you may dress. What else happened?"

vVv

A mother holding the hand of her child— a boy no older than four — crumbled to the cobblestones. Her skin was waxen, and from her mouth oozed red gobs of mucus. The eyes that contained a thousand worries had become clean of all trouble. The boy fell to his knees beside her, gripping her limp arm, and attempted to shake her awake. He cried out in Arcanum.

Emma couldn't look any longer. She closed the window curtain and stared straight ahead, curled fists trembling upon her thighs. It didn't matter that Emma couldn't see their suffering. She could hear it. Accompanying their broken cries, heinous images tumbled forth as though her carriage did not posses walls at all.

Another long, three weeks of travel, it seemed like. That final stretch to Danarius's estate.

She didn't notice when it was over. Only the images and begging filled her mind, surrounding everything. Emma couldn't cry, much as the sobs threatened to rip through her chest. She closed her eyes and behind her lids was the child shaking his mother's corpse.

vVv

Every elf stared in disbelief as they neared their new home. The guards instructed them to dismount and unload the cargo so that the magister's horses could be led to the city stables. They did so in a daze, eyes drinking in the green, the dusky oak, the charming cottage that sat in the middle of a blazing inferno. How could such a place exist here? Hard to believe they still stepped within the capital's horrifying limits, and not a lush and happy story.

vVv

Thanron shoved aside the curtain, tiptoeing to rest his chin along the window's edge. The girl was staring at nothing before her, knees drawn to her chest. Seemed she got a good scare, just like the rest of 'em. Poor girl was too soft for her own good.

"Oy," he reached an arm inside and grunted as his fingers stretched to swipe her shoulder. He withdrew it and patted the carriage wall. "Oy, Emma girl, we're here."

Thanron frowned when she didn't acknowledge him. The human was lost in thought. No doubt replaying the horrible sights of Minrathous over and over in her head. He had felt like puking earlier himself, but Thanron knew they were safe from the outside in this strange haven. No use in dwelling on what happened beyond their ivy borders.

"We decided Minrathous was for the birds," he sighed. "We're in a Ferelden forest, instead."

She turned to him, then. Lower lip tremblin' and eyes shining tears.

"Fenris likes it here," Thanron curled fingers around the ledge. "He's already stripped and joined the natives in shooting arrows and climbing trees."

Emma's features softened. Not quite a smile, but gettin' there.

"He's invited everyone for a group lay beneath the pale moon, in worship to Elgar'nan— hey!"

Fenris had yanked him by the collar of his tunic and thrust him aside.

vVv

"Danarius waits inside," he informed her, opening the door.

Emma's eyes fell to bobbing knees as her heart clenched painfully.

Oh, yes. That.

"He instructs you to take all the time you require."

She shook her head with a dismissive frown.

"Then," Fenris extended his hand, "this way."

Emma lifted her gaze, pleading him silently as she slowly met fingers to his.

He leaned inside the carriage to speak beside her ear,

"I am right beside you." He pulled back, studying her with a tentative calm. "Like before— if you can remember— follow my lead."

She nodded once.

"Do not eat the cake."

A look a surprise struck him as he dazedly guided her from the carriage.

"Well," he spoke in a low voice, brows drawing together, "To an extent. Be cautious. Accept what he insists for now."

"Right," she sighed, and her foot met stone.

vVv

Fenris was glad to see her contorted worry smooth to amazement as she viewed the grounds.

"What… how…"

She turned her head this way and that as they closed the long distance to the grand cottage. The sun was casting rose gold rays as it descended the sky, illuminating the bright green leaves and igniting the rich wood. The vine eaten windows glowed in welcome upon their approach.

Emma was smiling faintly now.

"This is my family's house in Ferelden…" she murmured, gazing up at the cottage. The elf stared from her to the house in surprise. "On a much grander scale, but… most assuredly, my house." She raised fingers to her mouth, "Every detail, the same. Incredible. It is as if the twins will greet me at the door."

Fenris was stunned into silence.

"Such a scheme he conducts. Does he think I will forget the homesick in this duplicate? He must have sent an artist to draw every leaf, every board." She shook her head, "The fool."

They reached the door and so ended their journey.

Emma's final barrier, the cottage door, was opened. And Danarius stood before them.

vVv

Was he that beautiful when they left?

She had to stop from reaching out to grab him. Wrap arms around his waist and bury her nose into his robes. Why couldn't she? Emma needed a reminding. Fenris strode to stand behind the magister, perhaps to provide the reminder. Emma lifted her chin.

"I feel as though I should be welcoming _you_. This being my house."

Danarius's stiffened around the question,

"You don't like it?"

"Hmm," she pressed a finger to her chin and peered over his shoulder. "It's better, I suppose, than a house made of glass."

"Ha," Danarius grinned. "It was a toss up between the two. Please," he bowed and gestured to the cottage insides with a flourish, "come in."

Emma ambled past the magister, gasping as he grabbed her retreating hand and pulled her to collide flush against him.

"Welcome home."

He kissed Emma deeply and she was too surprised by her own relief to pull away. A numbing euphoria that rendered her speechless. Danarius drew back only to gaze with the lazy grin she had so long waited to see.

Emma forced her body away, hands shoving against his chest.

She would defy the Final Ritual. No matter the feelings his touch elicited. Emma wouldn't fall to his knees.

vVv

_Finally, off the road! Finally, my characters are jumbled together. Exciting stuff._

_ElyssaCousland: He will be, after witnessing her reaction. Your comment made me laugh. I'm sorry for hurting your lady parts with my sexual tension. _

_VickiHumphries10: I took out the periods in your name. We'll see if that changes anything. Thanron and Imraddon are further along in their relationship progress than our main couple, at this point. Fenris and Emma still have a lot of hurdles to climb. Glad you're lovin' the drama._

_Guest: More "poor Fenris" to come!_


	83. We've never left

vVv

She didn't understand herself. Reached for familiar flesh, squeezed smooth fingers and glanced away from the husband and wife. To her handsome healer that smiled in question.

Arathea was so glad to see them together again. For shamefully selfish reasons, the elf felt weak with relief upon their reunion. Now, the crippling worry could end. Emma was here to subvert his gaze, to give him the love he sought.

But the elf didn't understand herself.

Her irrefutable discomfort upon seeing the blue gaze.

"Ara!"

Emma was beaming, arms outstretched and hurried steps. She wrapped around Arathea's neck in unabashed affection. The elf's eyes stung as she hugged her friend.

"I missed you," she said.

Emma sighed around a happy noise, before stepping back to take her hands. She lifted them outward and cried, "Look at you! What a beautiful dress!"

Ara giggled as Emma let out a low whistle.

"She's taken," replied Larus.

"Well, you haven't swapped blood yet, have you?"

The healer winced before expelling an inhibited chuckle.

Danarius clapped his hands together.

"Into the parlor with us!"

vVv

So you're rooming with Imra, then? Can Elen and I have the—"

Thanron's face scrunched, a mocking lilt to his voice as he repeated the question back.

The other elf stared a moment before continuing on, "Can Elen and I have the room that faces the gardens? She can't get over that the rooms have windows—"

"I don't know if I'm rooming with Imraddon."

"But there's only two rooms left."

"So?"

"So…" Mal narrowed his eyes, "I'd like to share one with Elen."

"Yanwen can room with Imraddon, then. She's got the only single-bed, right? I'll take that room."

"But Imraddon's a man."

Thanron barked a laugh and crossed his arms.

"He won't be any trouble."

Mal pondered a moment before heaving a sigh.

"Why don't you just room with Imra? You two get in a fight?"

Thanron shaped his lips to reply and shrugged, exasperating Mal. He muttered something about being too hungover for Thanron's shit.

"Could you guys be adults and work it out?"

"There's nothin' to work out," said Thanron.

Mal threw up his hands.

"Then, why are we having this conversation?" He marched past him after accusing the elf of being a cock-block.

Thanron pressed his lips together, dropping arms to his side in defeat. It was damn well worth a try, wasn't it? Now, when he woke up wanting to steal Imraddon's breath, he could at least tell himself that he gave it a go.

Hard steps down the hall and he turned to find Imraddon, marching towards him.

"What are you doing? We have dinner to prepare."

He chuckled at the elf's urgent glare, "Yes, chef," knocking against him as he passed.

vVv

Hadriana was sprawled out on the couch when they entered the parlor, fingers twisting a lock as she frowned at book she held. Not a glance in their direction as the party settled into the seats around her. Nowhere else to go, Danarius placed Hadriana's legs upon the floor with a sigh and settled down beside her.

"So," he leaned back along the sofa and smiled at Emma, "Fenris tells me you ran into a few troubles." He leaned to nod to Arathea. "Wine."

The elf began to rise from her seat, when Larus pulled her back down to join him.

"She doesn't do that anymore."

The magister flushed a bit. Hadriana made a small noise of disgust and turned the page.

"Of course, not," he said quickly, "Of course, she doesn't." He rose and fetched the wine himself.

The opposite door of the parlor was thrust open and its occupants each flinched, wide eyes fixing on the startled elf that held it open with a fist.

"This isn't the kitchen," said Thanron. "Sorry for…" the door slowly closed with a metal click. The door opened again. "Do you want me to do that?"

Danarius stared with one hand tipping the wine bottle over glass.

"I can handle it. What are you doing in Minrathous?"

"Emma wanted me."

"What?"

"Imraddon needs help in the kitchen."

"Imraddon…"

"I've gotta help make dinner."

The door thudded closed.

The magister turned with full glasses in hand, his brow furrowed.

"He was not on the list. Was he?"

"It's as he said," Emma replied with a shrug. "I wanted him, and Imraddon needs help in

the kitchen."

Danarius rejoined them and passed out the wine. He even gave Fenris a glass, who accepted it with an uncomfortable thanks after the magister muttered something none of the others could hear. Danarius met his glass with the elf's and settled beside Hadriana.

"Wine?"

"No, thank you," the mage smiled at her book.

Danarius poured the contents of her cup into his own and drew a long gulp. Emma glanced at Larus. He was tracing a finger along his glass and staring at his shoes.

Where had this strange tension come from? Emma stared from face to face.

The magister broke their silence with an abrupt clearing of his throat.

"How was it, overall?" he pulled his face into a grimace. "Was it terrible?"

"No," Emma said, "it was very nice to taste fresh air after being cooped up in your house."

His eyebrows furrowed as he laughed.

"Well, you don't have to be cooped up, anymore. So long as you take Fenris, you may wander all of Minrathous."

Arathea smiled at the prospect.

Emma would think not to step back into those harrowing streets for a while, and her face must have revealed this, for Danarius tutted his sympathies.

"It's really not all bad. I can point you in the direction of its nicer areas."

She shrugged.

"Perhaps, you can take Ara," said Larus, "She'd like to see more of the city than I've the time to offer." Arathea nodded eagerly beside him.

"I would love to visit the library. Larus says its shelves reach the heavens."

Emma smiled.

"I may have exaggerated a bit."

"Oh," Danarius paused his sipping of his wine, settling it against his knee. "Lord Nam has invited us all to his ball. Tomorrow evening."

Hadriana lowered her book.

"Lord Nam…" Emma murmured. "Sounds familiar. Is he supposed to be important?"

Danarius chuckled.

"He's supposed to be."

Another sudden intrusion turned their heads. This one louder and with clunking boots that made the floor shudder beneath Emma's feet. An irritated Addis crossed the room in long, hammering strides and disappeared out the far door.

"I should label the doors," said Danarius.

Emma rose from her seat.

"I'd like to clean up before dinner."

Again, Danarius flushed. He rushed to apologize for his "complete lack of thought", because "of _course _she wanted to clean up with real soap after being on the road for so long".

Hadriana snapped her book shut with a smile and tossed it atop a nearby stack, which was positioned in a suspiciously staged manner.

"Allow me to point the way."

Her smile was as staged as the book arrangement.

"Thank you."

Fenris exchanged a wary glance with Emma on her way out.

When they reached the top of the staircase, Hadriana predictably whirled around to give Emma the proper witch-welcome. Eyes flashing hate and a scowl so etched into her face, it seemed the handiwork of a carving knife. Emma had also expected a long, snapping string of threats, sprinkled with slaps across the face. None came. Instead, Hadriana wiped away her glare and calmly replied:

"I would have let you go with Demetri."

Emma blanched.

"What?"

"I know all about it. Demetri wants to whisk you off somewhere far from Danarius. I would have let you go. I don't want you here, after all. In Demetri's plan, everyone wins."

She was too shocked to be frightened. Too many thoughts raced through her mind to allow one word of reply.

"But now, I don't want you to win. I want you to suffer."

Emma found her voice, dry and pathetic as it was.

"Why the change of heart?"

"Mm," she pretended to think, "Fenris. We fucked on your wedding night and it wasn't the same, at all...he loved it."

Emma stared. And there was no itching to prelude the burning. The flames came full force and she felt them flick their tongues along her heart.

"I suspected you two, but that night confirmed my suspicions. I could feel his filthy sorrow with every kiss. He's never touched me that way."

Emma's nose burned as she bit back tears.

"It's not a coincidence that this change came upon your arrival." She smirked. "When I used to beat him, or test my newest spell, he would beg me to have mercy. When I threatened to kill him and make it look like an accident, he would beg me to have mercy. No longer. He welcomes me now. He wants me. Better me than to endure you."

Emma felt a tear escape and trail her cheek. Then, more.

"You took my uncle from me," she replied. "And you broke my favorite toy."

Hadriana leaned to take Emma's face in her hands. She smeared the tears across Emma's cheeks with both thumbs. Her skin was ice cold.

"You will suffer as I have."

Emma was trembling. Watching her thin lips form the words.

"If you try and tell Danarius — or even Fenris— about our little talk, I will tell my uncle of your escapades with the elf and the archon's son. And he will kill them both."

Hadriana shoved Emma's face away, and she struck the wall with a small gasp.

"The upstairs bath is down the hall to your right."

Emma was frozen. She gazed at the wooden floor, her tears striking its surface and slipping into the cracks.

"Oh, and Emma?"

She turned.

"I'm stepping out," Hadriana said around a cool smile, "Be a dear and tell Fenris to visit my chambers later tonight."

Her heart contracted painfully. And her voice left in a whisper.

"Tell him yourself."

Hadriana's brow furrowed like Emma had made a ridiculous suggestion— that she should sprout wings and fly.

"Why in Maker's name would I do that? I want you to suffer, remember?"

She laughed and descended the staircase.  
Emma felt that she would be engulfed in flames, with nothing but ashes to prove that she once stood there, alive.

When laughter erupting from the parlor roused her, she continued on to the baths and prayed that the flames would drown.

vVv

She returned to them and something was wrong. Emma was smiling more, and leaning to join the conversation. Laughter tumbled out of her like a brook babble, and she wiped the tears from her eyes when Thanron tripped his way into the room with cake.

Arathea fell into Emma's guise, sipping wine between giggles. Larus drunkenly asked her questions about Ferelden and Danarius gazed at her in a way that made him sick. No one noticed that she was in pain.

She was pale. The hand that held her fork trembled, and bits of food fell back onto her plate. She stared too intently at one thing, and for too long. A smear in her glass, the edge of her napkin, a fold in the table, and finally Fenris.

Emma stared at him. He would have worried that Danarius would notice if he wasn't distracted by the torment in her eyes.

What had Hadriana said to her?

A few guesses spun around in his head. He yearned for a stolen moment in which he could ask. And, when he was all but pulling at his hair in frustration, the moment came.

"Fenris, go eat."

"Yes, ma—"

"Master, may I go into the kitchens, too?" said Ara upon turning to Danarius.

The magister was beginning to nod when Larus cut through with a sharp sigh.

"Arathea, love, how many times do I have to remind you? He is not your master, anymore."

She frowned and directed the question to Larus, instead, who threw back his head and groaned.

"You needn't ask me, either!"

"I'm sorry—"

"Don't— apologize!"

Danarius chuckled with bright eyes as Arathea blushingly stood. Emma swiped her mouth and stood, as well. _Thank the maker._

"I'm going with her," she said to Danarius.

Fenris forced his strides to calm as he left the room with the girls chatting excitedly behind him.

"I hadn't really known Elen quite well, before—"

"Did you know she's my cousin?"

"What? No, no one's ever said anything— "

"You got along, didn't you—?

"Yes, Elen's fantastic—"

"Bit of a clairvoyant, that one—"

"It certainly seems so— is she, really?"

"Well, I think she is. It's impossible to hide from her. Quite literally, I always lost at hide-and-seek."

Fenris opened the kitchen doors to find a similar excitement. Imraddon was telling the elves who missed it that Thanron had danced his way into serving the cake when his toe had caught on the rug.

"'Least I didn't drop it—"

Imraddon was wheezing as Mal demonstrated the careening of Thanron's legs, the dumbfounded expression on his face as he tipped the cake platter forward.

"You can all stuff it. It was my first time!"

Emma took hold of Fenris's arm and let go as if his skin was made of flames. He stared at her, waited eagerly for her to speak. She didn't for a painful twenty seconds. Just stared up at him with lips moving to shape what she couldn't push out.

"Speak," he finally said. "I'm ready to go insane."

"Hadriana would like you to visit her chambers later. She's—"

"And?"

"—stepped out."

He shook his head.

"Tell me what she said."

Emma was frowning at her reflection in his armor, a dazed look in her eyes.

"She wants to speak with you, I suppose. She didn't tell me anything else."

"Liar."

vVv

Emma chewed on her lip and furrowed her brow.

She would never risk escaping this place. She would _never _risk the elf's life, and Demetri didn't deserve her indiscretion.

Emma was ready to walk away before he could demand more of her, frustrated that he wasn't buying it. Scared that he saw right through her. She couldn't look up into his eyes, because the one time she did, Emma found concern and worry and love and the words almost came rushing out.

A diversion was needed. Something to get him off track. Push his attention on something else before he endangered himself.

One thing came to mind, and she desperately grasped it, resolutely raising her stare to his.

vVv

"Fine," she said. "Fine."

She was trembling again and so was he. He wanted to shake it out of her. But then, it came.

"Hadriana told me that you two had sex the night of the ritual."

Fenris almost expelled a sigh of relief. Horrible though it was, he had been hoping that was their conversation. That was easier to dismiss than anything else.

"Emma, I am a slave, and she is my master's niece—"

"She told me that you enjoyed it."

Her eyes had filled with tears.

Maybe it wasn't easy, at all.

"I…"

"Then, you did."

No words came to his aid. Because, he had.

"Emma—"

"I was so miserable that night, and you—"

"You were not the only miserable one. When you were rolling in the sheets, at least _you _had the spell's comfort—"

She slapped him. He stared at the space of wall before him, before glancing sideways at her streaming tears.

"Wipe those away before someone sees."

Emma scoffed, lips curling in a smile.

"There is not _comfort_ in a spell that rips you from the one you love and injects you with fire whenever you look at him. In a spell that makes you love your enemy."

There was anger in him. There were things that he had always left buried deep, now unearthed and rising to the surface. He regretted his words, but couldn't stop them from leaving his lips.

"He was never your enemy. You have always loved him."

She shook her head, voice low with anger.

"You're wrong."

"I'm right."

"You—"

"Damn it, Emma, I saw it every day. I saw you smiling with him through every dinner. And I saw you kiss him back. And I saw you looking at him when you thought I wasn't."

"Please," she hissed. "You only see your insecurities. I don't love him beyond the spell. And there was no 'rolling in the sheets'. He has yet to consummate the marriage."

That stole his retort. Fenris had fully expected the magister to take advantage of their wedding night. That was the main reason for his compliance with Hadriana.

The anger had left Emma's gaze to be replaced by pain.

And then she spoke in a small voice.

"You should eat and bathe before Hadriana returns."

She turned to leave and there was the sound of the door thudding closed.

He hated himself as he had never hated himself before. If he could have taken back every word in exchange for a lash, he would have gladly done so.

vVv

Emma rounded a corner and almost collided with Danarius.

"There, you are— " he began to smile before noticing the tears.

She flinched as the magister raised a sleeve to wipe them away.

"You're still wearing your travelling robes after bathing?"

Emma was relieved that he didn't ask questions in regards to the crying. Danarius had a knack for reading that sort of thing. One nice thing about him, at least.

"I don't know where our chamber is."

Danarius sighed.

"I forgot to show you." He collected her hand with an apologetic smile, "Do forgive me, I'm all out of sorts today."

"It's alright."

"I'll show you now," he tugged gently on her fingers, "if you'd like."

Emma raised her brows in a shrugging nod.

"Excellent. This way."

Danarius led her up the stairs and to their chambers, pointing out rooms along the way. When he opened the door to reveal his study, Emma couldn't prevent the small smile from forming on her lips.

"One moment in here, and we've never left."

Designed as a complete copy of his previous study, one wouldn't know the difference if they were blindfolded before stepping inside.

"For our Ferelden home in Minrathous, I needed a little taste of my seaside haven. I don't much enjoy the capitol, myself." He closed the door with a frown. "In fact, I hate it. Too much noise and grime. But don't tell Emma that, I need her to feel comfortable here."

"Your secret is safe with me."

Their chamber was located at the end of the east wing.

She felt a cozy sleepiness upon entering their room. All she needed was a hot cup of tea and a book (and there were plenty to choose from the several shelves that lined the walls). Danarius had provided Emma with her own haven. The room was fashioned to be the ideal of relaxation. Rich woods made up the floors and carved trimmings, the walls painted in a deep, earthy green. Adjacent to a large, beautiful hearth that stretched halfway up the wall, was an oak desk that Danarius expressed to be exclusively for her own use.

"Thank you," she said.

Only one thing was missing.

"Will you be putting Fenris on the floor—?"

"Oh, no—"

"There isn't a place for him to sleep—"

"He'll be staying in his own room," he said. "You seemed uncomfortable with him in the room before. And I understand that, it isn't appropriate— especially now that we are married."

Emma must have looked dismayed, for he mistook it for fear and covered the top of their joint hands with his other. His voice was gentle.

"I will not hurt you, Emma.."

She nodded, suppressing a shudder at the memory of otherwise.

It was probably for the best, that Fenris stay in his own room. For them both.

Now, there was only Danarius and her. And he was staring. Did he expect her to undress now? Emma sighed.

Danarius roused himself with a shake of his head.

"Your clothes are hung in the wardrobe," he pointed before scratching the back of his head. "And…" the magister dropped his hand and furrowed his brow. He seemed to want to…

"What?" asked Emma.

"Oh," Danarius shook his head. "It's nothing. Just…," he wiped his chin and stared at the floor, "I did want to say… that in regards to…"

Emma frowned.

"That."

"Yes," he chuckled around a wince, "that."

"What?"

"Well, you— we don't need to, just because we are husband and wife." He shrugged and glanced away. Emma stared at the hair that brushed his eyes as he did so. Marveled at seeing him this way. He had become a boy, flushed and unable to meet her gaze. "Not until you want to."

She continued to watch him in awe. A new side, she hadn't seen.

"Thank you," Emma finally answered. "That's very…" she smiled and drew her brows together.

"Considerate?"

"Unexpected."

"Ah."

"Before, you weren't exactly this…"

"Gentle?"

"Civilized."

"Yes, well," Danarius raised his head and met her gaze. There was a sincerity in his eyes that caused Emma to become the flushing one. "I was only thinking of myself. You were my slave." He lowered eyes to their hands. "I care a great deal more. Now, you're my wife and I want you to be happy. I love you."

The words sent a rush through Emma that she hadn't expected. It made her knees weak, stole the breath from her lungs.

"Oh," she breathed, reaching to grab a fistful of his robes before her legs would buckle.

He curled an arm around her waist.

"I'm sorry," Danarius grimaced. "That's the spell."

Was it? How could such a feeling be fabricated?

"Yes. Damn you…"

Emma stared up at him now, and the feeling swept through her again. Her heart was racing, fluttering like a humming bird's wings. It wasn't lust that claimed her so fully.

It was love.

"I feel it, too," he sighed and only then did Emma realize his eyes had begun to glaze with tears, "I loved you, before. But… after the spell, it has become crippling," he lifted a trembling hand to cup her cheek. "It wasn't in the original plan. I've never agreed with such manipulation.

"But after I hurt you, I felt it necessary. Someone under such magic cannot harm the one they love. No matter my sleeping delirium, I won't raise a hand to you."

Now, Emma was the one to wipe away his tears.

"I didn't realize," she said, "you were trying to protect me."

Danarius snorted and glanced away.

"In my own deranged way. It makes less and less sense to me as the days go on."

"I didn't say it was right. I don't believe I'll ever forgive you for it."

He met her eyes.

"I would never accept such forgiveness."

The pained smile swept another wave of love through her, and she pulled away before it could carry her off to sea. Before she could kiss him.

"I'm tired," she said.

"Yes," he drew back a few slow steps toward the door. "Sleep. I'll return shortly." Danarius turned after opening the door, "Would you like to attend Nam's ball tomorrow evening? You don't have to go if you don't want to."

"I would."

He was pleasantly surprised by that.

"Good! I wasn't satisfied with the drunken stomping you performed at our wedding. This will be a nice chance for a roman—"

The magister grinned and shut the door before Emma's lodged pillow could strike him.

vVv

Hadriana smiled upon finding Fenris waiting outside her chambers.

"Hello, little wolf!"

"Mistress."

Ooh, he wasn't at all happy to see her, was he? Hadriana suspected the wretched girl's snivelling message was enough to rouse anger in him. Good. The first step to bringing back her yelping dog was to fill him with hate. That dreadful pity from their last night had been a nasty alternative. Had he deemed himself her equal?

"Well, go on, open the door! Unless, you want Emma to chance upon us having sex in the hallway. Which— now that I think on it— is quite a lovely idea, that."

Fenris had wrenched open the door before Hadriana finished her sentence.

The gleeful times ended there.

For when he removed Hadriana's clothes at her command, he did so slowly. Gently. He wasn't afraid. He was immortally angry and sad, but unafraid.

"Mistress…" he dared to speak. "What is wrong with you?"

The words contained more bite than the soft voice that uttered them.

She punished him well for the question, angry that she could not push a single plea from him. Kicking a dog that already lay dead. Disgusting. After she was through, Hadriana shoved him off of her, and he rose from the ground to step into his undergarments.

Fenris asked it one more time after pulling on his tunic.

"What is wrong?"

A string of blood from his head was staining the top of his shirt. And she would have liked to deliver more scratches, but her uncle wouldn't have taken to that.

She stood and snatched the dress that he held out to her.

"Get out."

He did so after too long a stare. His eyes contained anger, and more than that, pity and regret.

Just like her beloved uncle, he would have rather been looking into Emma's eyes, after having felt Emma's skin.

It made her want to scream.

vVv

Thanron scrubbed and scrubbed till his hands grew tired. The already murky water became right brown after he dunked his head to rinse the soap out. Sometimes, a thorough soak will really put everything into perspective. He had been one rotten elf. Imraddon had complained of his smell, but Thanron had thought he was exaggerating. A sort of barn guy versus kitchen guy thing.

But he was right.

Thanron's stench overriding the others could be attributed to his hating the cold. Rinsing in a freezing river in the dead of winter? He passed again and again. No matter how many times the cross Imraddon, the one who had to sleep beside him, begged him to soak quick— he didn't want to. Even washing with a bucket was unbearable in the winter air.

But there he rose from the bath, all scrubbed clean and missing the top layer of his skin, Thanron felt refreshed. And now Imraddon wouldn't make a big deal abo—

The door opened and Imraddon stepped through.

Thanron's instinct had been to take a step back, and he'd forgotten he was standing in a round wooden tub.

He toppled over the side of it, legs thrown up and landing on his shoulders and head.

"Augh!"

"Thanron! Are you—?"

"Don't. Move—"

"Are you bleeding?"

"No—" he groaned. "Think yer stupidity broke my fall. Knock next time."

"I'm sorry— I assumed the doors would have locks. Ah… this one does. You should have locked the door."

"Get out, so I can get dressed!"

"Right. Sorry."

The door slammed closed and Thanron groaned again. He pulled himself from the floor and gingerly rubbed the back of his shoulder. After carefully pulling his clothes on, he twisted the tub's bottom nozzle, and watched it flow across the floor to the drain just by his foot.

"Andraste's arse."

He scratched angrily at his head and ran hands down his face before leaving the bathroom.

Imraddon was lying upon the far bed when he opened the door.

"Hey," he said, sitting up with a smile, "The maker brings justice after you peeped on me—"

"Did you see?"

Imraddon shook his head.

"Not this time. I only saw skin and then your legs flying up and your arms flailing back…"

He began to laugh.

Thanron was frowning.

"What do you mean 'not this time'?"

Imraddon's laughing stopped short. He looked stricken with realization. Like he just made a big mistake.

"Oh—" he became grave Imraddon again. "That was to say… it's probable that, with the current pattern, I will be seeing…" he trailed off from his babble when Thanron glared at him.

"You've seen!" he accused.

"Thanron, we are both men," he said defensively. "I have seen Mal's and Fenris's and the master's—"

"But you _want _to see theirs."

"I prefer men, but that does not mean I have an affinity for penises."

"Doesn't it?"

"No!"

"When have you seen?"

Imraddon sighed, dropping his shoulders and turning to stare at his hands.

"When you kissed me…" he glanced up with a wince, "Thanron, you were really drunk."

"Did I drop my pants or something?"

Imraddon glanced away and nodded.

"There's more," said Thanron before rubbing his eyes with his palms. "Just say it."

"You wanted me to… suck you off."

Thanron nodded beneath his hands.

"I saw for two seconds, and I pulled your pants up. You fell asleep shortly after."

The elf shuffled to his own bed and collapsed on top of it, face first into the pillow.

"Goodnight, Imraddon."

There was a long pause.

"You were really drunk—"

"I'm asleep, shut up."

vVv

Danarius returned just as Emma's mind had begun to dull.

He wrapped Emma up and pulled her to lay along his body. And she could feel his hammering heart against her back. She could feel his breath brush her ear. What if she turned round to kiss him? A small goodnight.

No. She shouldn't. She had to remember that she wouldn't.

Though, even so, laying flush against him was so… and knowing he was there and feeling his fingers run down her arm and up again… it carried her up into a blissful sleep. vVv

_ This was a fun chapter to write! _

_datajana: The tension will build!_

_MirandaBasilisk: I cleared that up in this chapter, I hope. _


	84. It's a dress

vVv

Fenris woke with a start and bolted upright. His eyes darted about the room. Where was she?

Then, he remembered. This was his room now. These four corners stuffed with paintings of forest scenes and books he could not read. A mockingly cozy place for a slave to sleep.

The birds sang just outside his window, the faint light of morning creeping in.

He rubbed his eyes, massaging at their dull throbbing, and rose to address the day. What sort of torture did the Maker have in mind for Fenris today? Perhaps Hadriana will announce that she is pregnant with the elf's child. His mind reeled to even imagine it.

Or maybe — it was the smallest of chances — something good might happen to Fenris.

The elf collected his armor, feeling the leather beneath his hands.

Maybe Emma would declare that her love for him was restored in the night. That she hated Danarius.

And maybe she would kiss him, the way she once did. With fervent desire and all consuming warmth that wracked his bones. Maybe he would slide a hand between her legs, as he did that blissful night, and make her purr with pleasure…

Fenris closed his eyes as he wrapped a hand around himself.

Well, there was one good thing about having his own room.

vVv

Mama was odd today. She had pulled out his hair with two rough fists and was sprinkling it into a candle's bright green flame. The pain had woken him up from his sleep, and Danarius had yelped and whimpered at the sound it made as she yanked.

Danny watched with wide eyes as all the little black hairs fizzled away and stank like dust and the soil before it rains.

"Mama," he sighed like he was the Papa and she was the child. "What are you doing?" Danny found himself asking the tired question more and more as the days passed.

Mama always gave Danny answers that confused him. Today, it was:

"I am doing what needs to be done."

Today was the first day that she had taken his hair. He wrinkled his nose as more of them vanished in the flame.

"You could have cut it up, Mama. You hurt my head— "

"I needed the roots, child. One doesn't cut flowers by their stems when they wish to grow them in new soil."

Danarius didn't understand that, either.

"Can I play outside today?"

She glanced at him as the last hairs were gone.

"If you are a good boy." Then, she turned to him and lifted him into her lap. "Mama needs something else of you." Her voice turned sweet like honey when she needed something else of him. It made a bunch of worms do a dance in his belly.

He shook his head in a polite decline and hoped that it would do. But she scowled and showed her yellow teeth.

"You shan't play nor eat if you are not a good boy."

The words smelled like old cheese. Danny began to whimper. Fat tears hid her mean frown and he wanted to writhe out of her grip. But it was tight, and it didn't matter if he gave up playing or his supper. Mama would do it, anyway. She'd cut him up and they would watch the blood drip into the green fire. And the only thing he would focus on is that the green flame wouldn't snuff out while she did so. If he didn't, and instead focused on the blood leaving his arm, he'd wail until Mama hit him.

"I'll be good."

She smiled and pulled the knife from her robes— where it always waited— and brought it to his skin—…

Na Vanum opened his eyes.

A small noise beside him, an arm curling around his waist. He pinched the intruding wrist between two fingers and removed it from him with a flick. Refreshingly, the human did not protest in his head. Danarius was too tired, the dream still unfolding in their wake.

Several times, Danarius feebly commanded him to seek Fenris, but they both knew it was too soon. Too much lyrium would drive them mad.

_We have to… discover why… this is happening. _

_ I will seek the answer. And I will fight your thirst for power whilst you fight my thirst for blood._

_Yes… _

_Focus on things that you enjoy. Do not dwell on what displeases you. Think not on that vile woman. We did away with her long ago._

_Yes… it weakens me._

_I know. Fight it off. You are stronger than this._

_Yes… _

The sole reason he had agreed to posses the boy was to rip him from that awful witch. That tied her kin against a post and offered his soul like the meat of a pig. For power.

The power demons had snickered at the witch's summons. They had wanted nothing to do with the sobbing boy. They had shaken their heads and laughed as they passed his little body. Who would want to carry a weakling to power? Not them. Power demons sought those on the brink of insanity. Great and powerful mortals that were already well on their way to reaching insurmountable heights. There had been no power to feed on in that room.

Na Vanum had been passing through when he noticed the power demons. They had huddled around the boy, watching him cry out for his despicable mother from their perches in the fade. Vanum had shoved them aside and drank in the scene.

It had gone on for hours, this ritual.

The boy was barely conscious, nail marks oozing blood down his back. The woman had chanted nonsense garbage behind him, eagerly offering the boy's weak will, his innocence, to the fade demons.

And still, the boy felt love for his mother. He pleaded with her to have mercy on him.

It had filled him with such violent disgust, that Na Vanum decided to bond with the boy.

He had let the witch's toy flame shift from green to red, and she recognized his presence. She gasped upon seeing its sudden glow, her cheeks had flushed and her body had quivered with delight. The woman was familiar with Na Vanum. She had not expected such fortune.

_Better _than a power demon, the witch had rejoiced.

"_The Pull has you now, my child. Can you feel it?"_

He normally bonded with those who sought blood as he did.

But that day, the only blood he desired belonged to the woman that tormented her own son.

Na Vanum had wrapped the boy up in an embrace, eased his ear into the fade, and told him that he would bring peace.

"_No more suffering," he had promised. "No more."_

Now, the bitch was back. A return to the suffering. Haunting his human's dreams with her hideous smile, and forcing Danarius to relive the terror of his youth.

It would make him mad, if such dreams continued. It had happened before. More than once. It drove them apart. It made the demon and the human despise each other. It blinded them.

If they didn't find the source, these dreams would make them hunger for more than Fenris could placate.

Na Vanum sighed. And then he blinked upon a sudden intrusion and sniffed at the air.

Sweet smells sidled into the room like a feminine coo.

Arathea.

Vanum left the bed. He dressed before the girl could wake and followed the scent of Arathea's happy cooking. It led him to the kitchens.

She and Imraddon were talking in hushed voices, one stirring batter and the other frying them up into fat circles. Arathea leaned her back against the counter, hands bracing its edge behind her as she waited for the pancake. A crease of worry etched between her brows.

"I told him," Imraddon said, "we can't keep it in a bloody shed, we have to find it a home…"

"How would we go about doing that?"

Imraddon sighed and stirred harder, "He said the same. I have no idea, but I feel guilty, stuffing it in a shed. And if it gets out…"

Arathea nodded with a frown before raising her eyes to Na Vanum.

"Good morning!" she blurted.

He stared at her a moment, before pointing at a finished stack of pancakes.

"I would like some of those."

"Yes, master."

She scrambled for a plate, quickly laying four pancakes upon it and lathering them in butter. Imraddon set aside the batter to rescue Arathea's pancake, grim as he flipped it over.

Watching the elf spill a generous amount of syrup over his plate, he sat himself down at the kitchen table.

Arathea placed the pancakes before him, and froze.

He raised his eyes to find that she was staring into them.

"You…"

A flush crept across her cheeks. An interesting observation, her flushed stare, upon discerning who he was.

"What is in the shed?"

She blinked and fetched a napkin for him.

He glanced at Imraddon, who was staring back and forth between them both.

"What is it?" he smiled, "I won't be upset."

Holding out a fork, Arathea sat beside Na Vanum. She managed to blend an awkward rigidness with a dancer's practiced grace as she did so. Arathea's gaze followed the fork up to his lips, deepening in worry. He retained his slight smile around the bite.

"It's a mabari."

Imraddon glared at her.

"They came across one on the trip and we wanted to find it a home."

The demon stared as he chewed.

"We hoped not to trouble you with it."

This was a perfect opportunity. Nothing better could have presented itself. He relished the chewing of her lips, the fumbling with the edge of her dress. Arathea glanced away when he became too intent on her mouth.

"You won't be giving it away," he stabbed a pancake.

Arathea nodded, passing Imraddon a disheartened glance.

"Mm…" the demon swallowed his bite. "I don't like pancakes. Too sweet."

"Can I get you something—"

"These will do. You may keep the dog here."

He popped another forkful in his mouth.

Arathea's face ignited with happiness. She clasped her hands together and held them to her chest.

"Oh, master—"

"Ah."

The demon had pressed a finger to her lips and tilted his head.

"Larus told you to stop calling me that."

"Na—," her mouth moved beneath his finger, "Na Va—"

He raised a brow and flicked a pointed glance at Imraddon, who was pretending to concentrate on his pancake flipping.

"Thank you so much, Lord Danarius."

The door opened as he lowered his hand.

"Ara, have you seen my reading glasses? Oh, Da—"

Larus pressed his lips together as they met eyes and delivered a flat good morning.

"_Why must he pick favorites? I was just as present when we met as you. A little friendly affection would do nicely."_

No response for their usual banter. The dream had done a number on Danarius.

Arathea was still practically bouncing in her seat.

"Larus! Such good news."

The elf pulled Larus into the seat beside her and held his arm.

"He's letting us keep the mabari!"

The healer frowned, touching her hands with a swift glance toward Na Vanum.

"That's…"

He glanced again at the demon, and seemed to be searching for the corner pieces of a puzzle.

"Isn't it wonderful?"

"Yes…" Larus donned the appropriate amount of smile as he addressed Vanum, "I thought I would have to prepare a speech on why you shouldn't kill it, to be quite honest. You hate dogs—"

"Nonsense, I tolerate them."

Arathea's smile brightened at that. As though he had proclaimed that dogs were the world's finest beast, and he was delighted that one had been smuggled into his home. Larus was frowning at her now, scrambling for more puzzle pieces of the same charcoal color.

"Would you like to meet him?"

"I'm certain our paths will cross soon," he smiled. "For now, I have errands to run," blood to pull, "before Nam's party. Thank you for the pancakes. They were not entirely horrible."

He left them and followed the scent of blood, much as he had followed the smell of Arathea's cakes.

If she remained the innocent lamb, with blushes hot and pooling in her cheeks and over her nose, the hungers would coincide. Na Vanum would eat her. It was becoming unbearable to exist where she did. The elf all but curled her finger in invitation, and his leg had bounced restlessly beneath the table as she sat beside him. The smell washing over him. Like blood soaked pancakes, she had smelled.

Never before had a mortal creature smiled at him with such sincerity. To Danarius, they turned their teeth easily, gladly. But, not Na Vanum. No one knowingly smiled at The Pull. They might have bared their teeth in a grimace of fear or pain, but not in happiness.

Not as she did.

It would be a shame to eat her. In the fatal sense, at least. Na Vanum would try to control his urges to kill her.

The nobleman that whimpered before him now was another matter. This mortal, he pulled into the fade without mercy, revealing himself in a snarl as he ripped into his skin. He left the man's body, reduced of its eternal, and wandered the streets for something to occupy him.

He lingered at the window of a silly, little dress shop.

Life-sized wooden figures posed with hands poised delicately at their faces, or clasped before their legs. They wore the city's latest ball fashions. Black silken dresses that flared out to reveal wooden legs, and a sleek, deep red gown that melded to carved hips.

Na Vanum imagined the elf in such finery. It was the thought that coaxed him into that silly, little dress shop. And he stared at the blood-bathed gown, feeling a curl of desire as he reached to stroke its softness.

He hurriedly purchased it, along with the black dress.

vVv

Demetri smothered his hair with both hands. The wild locks sprang back the second he lifted fingers. Would they never calm? The stupid hair believed itself to be swept in a constant storm. Wild and stretched to flee his head at all times.

He was alone in his chambers now. The horde of elven hands had been ordered to leave him be. Rifling through the many robes that he owned. Wondering what had possessed him to purchase a single stitch of them. Hideously gaudy. Clumped fur and loud patterns. He removed them from his wardrobe and let them fall to the floor.

When he had resolved to step out and buy new, smart robes, Demetri found a sophisticated set of deep blue. These would do.

He threw them on and frowned at his reflection.

"Emma…" he held out a hand. "Would you do me the honor— ugh."

Demetri pressed a fist to his mouth and cleared his throat.

"Emma…" he bowed, "so, we meet again. I have waited long for our reunion—maker, what am I saying? Would you delight me with this next dance—?"

A burst of sudden laughter sounded near the door.

He whirled to glare at Mirima, who was attempting to quiet violent snorts beneath her hands. The words escaped her around coughs and moans.

"You sounded like a villain approaching his arch nemesis— " Mirima's voice tilted up to a squeak as she bent over, bracing the door frame. "I've never heard a more ridiculous greeting in all my life."

Demetri flushed scarlet. His hands shook.

"Mirima—"

"Are you two meant to engage in battle—?"

"Get out—"

She held up her hands, hysterics reduced to twitching smiles.

"I'm done. I'm done. Just— word of advice?"

"Keep it."

"Simply say 'hello' when you see her, and you'll be much better off."

"I am so ready to curdle your blood. The only thing restraining me is the snot oozing from your nose—"

"What!"

"It's disgusting. You laugh like a witch."

Mirima stepped forward and leaned around him to look in the mirror, "Your awful charisma is what reduced me to witch laughter," wiping hurriedly at her nose. She studied his robes through the looking glass. "Is that what you're going to wear?"

"Yes."

"It isn't dreadful. I didn't know you owned anything less than dreadful."

"Why are you still here?"

"It makes your eyes rather nice. How do you like my dress?"

"It's a dress."

"You would be more objective if Emma was wearing it—"

He lifted his hand and Mirima scowled at the ache of his magic. Nothing to harm the girl, but enough to drive her from his room.

When he turned back to the mirror, adjusting his robes, he saw Mirima's reflected head pop back around the door.  
"I almost forgot the reason I came—"

"What is it?" he snapped.

"There's a woman to see you. She's all but missing an eyepatch, she looks so a pirate. Is she a pirate?"

He turned to nod at her.

"Tell her I'll be down in a moment."

"Is she a _pirate_, Demetri."

"Yes."

"What in the Maker's name do you need a pirate for?"

"If I require your council in my affairs, I will seek you. Tell her I'll be down."

"Fine," she reached for the knob. "You ought to practice your civilized greetings with the pirate, before you see Emma—"

Demetri forced Mirima's exit with a waving arm that sent heat through her veins. She glared and slammed the door shut.

The woman drained him more than any creature he'd ever known.

But the woman who awaited him downstairs came a close second.

Demetri found her waiting in the salon, sipping heavily from a glass of rum. It required a great deal of patience— all he possessed, in fact— to look upon Cain. She was dressed in the most pirate-like attire he had ever seen. A worn, creme tunic beneath a black, laced corset that pushed her breasts up in a very tacky fashion. Tattered black skirts that hiked much too high along her thighs… and the most ridiculous pair of knee-high leather boots, completely smothered in mud.

He swiped a hand along his face and took a deep breath.

"You cannot wear that to a ball," said Demetri.

Cain raised her eyes to his with an arched brow.

"The void I can't," she gave him a swift look-over. "Not while you're wearing _that_—"

"You do realize that the man we're dealing with isn't an idiot. I can't introduce a pirate to Emma right in front of him."

She frowned at that.

"How'll he know I'm a pirate?"

Maker, if he wasn't two more stupid comments away from losing his damn mind. If everyone would just cooperate and allow him to worry about the broader details— Demetri sucked in a breath and turned to leave with a curl of his hand.

"Come, you will be dressed in something proper."

"What? I'm wearin' perfectly proper attire."

Only one more stupid comment left.

By every grace, let him be free of these fools' nonsense.

vVv

"No, no, why not? Ara!"

The elf smiled and drew legs into her lap.

Arathea was sat upon Emma's bed, happily watching her rifle through gowns to wear for Nam's ball. Nothing seemed to fit the occasion. Either too flashy, with outrageous frills, or much too modest. Some of her gowns appeared as though they were intended for ancient women. She confided that she yearned for En's dresses, mournful of their loss in the fire.

When Emma had asked what Arathea would be wearing, the elf replied that she wouldn't be attending.

"Why? You don't want to."

Ara's smile fell and she leaned forward with wide eyes.

"I do! I want to very much."

Emma took hold of her hands.

"Then, come with me."

She shook her head.

"Larus says it's impossible," when Emma began to scowl, Ara hurried to add, "and he's right. This is Lord Nam's ball and he hates me."

"He once hated me, too. He'll come around."

"Lord Nam didn't even want to share the same table as me."

"Arathea, but that's absurd. Perhaps, if he were to get to know you—"

"I can't. It would be very rude to show up, uninvited."

Emma glared at the bed and chewed her lip. They both thought in silence for a moment.

She glanced up at Ara.

"Larus is going?"

"He has to."

"That's rubbish. Fenris is going, why can't—"

"As a slave," Ara amended. "Larus won't have me go as a slave."

Defeated, Emma sat upon the bed beside her.

"I'm sorry for pestering you. I really want you to go."

"Don't apologize," Ara placed a hand to the human's knee. "If I hadn't done something to upset Nam, perhaps he'd allow my attending."

Emma smiled softly.

"I doubt you could do anything to upset anyone." She turned to her folded hands and sighed. "That fool is just stuck in his stupid Tevinter ways. I'd only assumed Larus did away with Nam's perception of you."

"He's trying to. It's causing him a great deal of stress."

Arathea laid back against the bed.

"Which worries me."

Emma joined her upon the mattress.

"He'll be fine—"

The door opened and they both bolted upright.

It was Danarius, staring at them with two bundles draping over one arm. He closed the door behind him and the girls felt its click like the beating in their chests. His eyes flitted from each of their faces, and Emma flinched upon finding their blackness.

vVv

Na Vanum observed their contrasting reactions to his presence. Quite interesting, with the girls sitting side by side, the differences were apparent. Where Emma paled, Arathea flushed. The human's cold gaze remained fixed upon his face, while the elf became entranced with the open wardrobe beside her.

He stepped forward and Emma seemed prepared to strike.

The demon dumped his silken game upon the bed.

"I've bought two new dresses, Emma. Pick the one you want for the ball."

She narrowed her eyes.

"I know you don't have any," Na Vanum gestured impatiently. "Look at them."

Still suspicious— did the human think she would find a snake inside?— she opened the first bag. Emma's hand brushed the black silk and her brows raised, in spite of herself. She stared a moment before removing the dress from its bag. The silken trails reflected in the firelight, shimmering and eliciting sighs from the girls. Emma's eyes followed the smooth, black bodice. The laced sleeves, intricate in their design.

"Beautiful," she breathed.

Arathea nodded in awe beside her.

Na Vanum hurried her along.

"The other one?"

Emma laid the black dress aside and opened the second bag.

The dress spilled out like an open wound, deep red pooling inside. Emma pinched the rich velvet and smoothed it with her hands. She smiled and brought it to the elf's hands, who withdrew them, as though she dared not touch it. "It's so soft," said Emma. "Feel."

Glancing at Na Vanum in search of disapproval and finding none, Arathea passed a hand over the dress.

"Oh. That's…"

It was then that Emma made the observations he had hoped she would make.

"That looks lovely with your skin," she smiled. "Do you see? And," Emma reached to collect Aratheas's hair and guided it to tumble over her breasts. "It goes well with your hair, too."

The elf blushingly pulled away.

Emma stood and lifted the dress to see its full length. Simple, long, with elegant sleeves and folds that began at the hips and billowed down. Sleek, it would meld to the elf's breasts and worship her form.

"Arathea, if you wore this, Nam would regret his perception."

The elf sighed.

"Emma, please."

Having had quite enough of something, Emma cast the dress upon the bed and angrily turned to Na Vanum.

"It is ridiculous to exclude Ara. Larus is going and so should she."

"I don't disagree."

Emma blinked.

"You don't?"

"No, she should go. It's a ball, isn't it? The more, the merrier."

Arathea was shaking her head, while Emma was igniting.

"Yes, exactly."

The elf's shaking head grew more fervent and Na Vanum fought a smile.

"You don't think so, elf?"

She was frigid with worry, "It would cause quite an upset among the guests. Larus wouldn't want it."

He nodded gravely, before holding out a hand of suggestion.

"Go as Emma's maid."

"Yes," said Emma, "in the dress."

They were making quite a team.

"In the dress?" the elf cried. "Oh, I can't do that."

Na Vanum raised a brow.

"No one brings their servants to a ball in rags. It's unsightly."

"But I'm not a servant, master. I'm a slave."

He clicked his tongue.

"I— meant Lord Danarius. Sorry."

"Don't dispute with me. Emma wants you to go. You want to go. So, go."

The elf looked ready to feint.

vVv

Hufflepuff-DragonRider: Things are set to happen. Hang in there. And I love torturing both Thanron and Imraddon. You can see the direction in which Na Vanum wants things to go between him and Arathea. We'll see if he prevails.

VickiHumpries10: I'm glad you enjoyed the chapter, despite Hadriana's shit storm.

Guest: The woes are in plenty, will always be for someone. Where's the fun in everyone being happy, right?

Eureka234: Take your time! Read at your leisure. I mean, I'm not always hunched over a keyboard. I, too, have other commitments. And yeah, Hadriana is a major bitch.

Ashangel95: Thank you so much! I make Fenris put up with a lot of bullshit, for sure.

sycce: Glad to provide such a feeling. Thank you for reading :)

Lady Velvet C. Peterson: I feel ya. School is crazy. I have to go out on the bay tomorrow and measure its damn turbidity, for my Oceanography class. At 7:30 AM, the boat leaves. And I live an hour away from the ocean. It's unholy.


	85. It's just tea

vVv

"Yanwen!"

She lifted a ready smile to the sound of Thanron as he ran forward with his cold-beaten nose and clouds of breath. Leapt over shrubs and stone step. Yanwen's grip tightened around the broomhandle. She'd rather go on sweeping leaves.

"What is it, Trouble?"

He broke a grin as he stopped before her.

"We're goin' shoppin', wanna come?"

"Oh, really?"

Yanwen shook her head after a polite pause of consideration.

The refusal hadn't been what he carried in mind for their day, apparently. Ever the blunt Thanron, he shoved hands into his pockets and cocked a brow.

"You're still mad at me."

She felt the heat rush to embarrass her, engulfing every inch of skin on her face.

"I was never mad— and, I mean— why would I be?"

Thanron slid a foot behind himself and bit his tongue around a smile. Such an expression, to tug at her groaning heart strings. Why'd he have to torment her?

"Sorry I didn't shag you before all this mess started."

She sputtered, and her face was so hot, the healer would have stopped to question upon the sight. When she caught the evading breath, Yanwen hurled her broom to the cobblestones.

"Thanron, you tactless, little—!"

He caught her wrist before she could strike his face.

"I'll let you give me a nice one, after this. Needs to be said."  
Yanwen broke free of his hand, voice shaking.

"You've said quite enough, already—"

"In the next life, I'll happily put you between me and a wall. But in this one, can't we be friends? I'd hate to miss out on a lass like you. Besides."

She did not appreciate the way he waggled his brows.

"You didn't exactly suffer without a dance partner during our trek."

What the hell was that supposed to mean— Yanwen inhaled sharply, sucked in fury between teeth before she expelled it like a dragon's fire.

"I would _never _share a bed with that copper sore!"

"You know what they say. 'Passion's passion', 'thin line between hate and love', 'one wayward glance undresses the foe—'"

"You don't know what you're talking about. Really."

He bent to collect her broom.

"Don't make it awkward, Yanwen. Come on, come with us."

Yanwen stared at him, snorted a breath. She, make it awkward? _She?_  
"Guess I'm not allowed any time for heartache."

"Nope. It'd be silly, anyways. Nothin' to be sad about."

She blinked.

"Ordinarily, the decision to feel sad would be left to the rejected."

"C'mon," he grabbed her arm and led her forward.

Could anyone be more selfish? She glared at the back of his head, the unruly mess of black hair. Not only did he break her heart, but he wouldn't allow her to sigh over it. Unbelievable. How ridiculously Thanron of him.

As they made their way to the kitchens, Yanwen tried her hand at prying at _his_ head, for a change.

"What did you mean by 'before all this mess started'? What mess?"

Thanron brushed the question off like it was a fly above his porridge. A simple swat and then a question of what shop she most wanted to visit.

Unbelievable.

He shoved open the kitchen door and let her loose.

"So, the only ones finished with their duties are me, you, Imraddon, and Elen."

The latter two glanced up from parchment, before rejoining their task. Imraddon was scribbling away at a long square of yellow parchment, ink smudges at his fingertips. Elen admired the stroking quill, watching it quiver with his movement. She giggled when he lifted his hand to find another gleaming smear along his skin.

"I never learned how to do this without making a mess."

Elen smiled, "You're doing a lovely job, I think. The lines are good."

"They just say 'Eggs, Flour, and Butter'."

"The beginnings to something good, indeed."

Imraddon chuckled and continued writing.

"Perhaps, you should teach the others," Elen said. "That might be fun."

Raising brows, Imraddon glanced between Thanron and Yanwen.

"Would you like me to teach you how to read and write?"

They shrugged.

"I thought as much," he turned to Elen. "You?"

"Oh, no. There are too many unpleasant things to read about."

Yanwen chatted with Elen and Thanron as Imraddon finished his listing.

It was strange to speak with him, but the git was making an effort. Thanron wanted her to be comfortable around him, despite his never being able to return her feelings. And that was something.

She spoke to him with smiles. That was something, too.

vVv

The girls glanced up when Na Vanum rose from his seat, setting the untouched tea upon an end table.

"Now, I've a short window of time," he fixed eyes on Arathea and nodded his head to the door, "if you'll come with me."

Emma frowned, and parted her lips—

Holding up a hand, Vanum stopped her questions.

"It's a matter of Ara's freedom. There's things to discuss."

"You can't discuss them now? Here?"

He stared at her.

"I could. But I'd rather discuss them in my study. Wherein contains her paperwork. Of which I need to reference for our discussion." Vanum raised a condescending brow, and a flush crawled over the human's nose. "You are quite welcome to join us if you deem it necessary."

He knew how to make people feel silly for asking rather appropriate questions. In fact, Emma should have been more aggressive in her concern. But instead, she glanced away with that embarrassed nose, and mumbled something intelligible.

"Until later," he said.

Vanum made for the door, with Arathea behind him.

"Will you be attending the ball?" said Emma. She meant Danarius, of course. But, as far as she knew, Emma could still protect Arathea from knowing that he was possessed by a demon.

He bit the inside of his cheek. This human.

"I'm not feeling well."

"Is that your own doing?"

This _human_. He was soon to lose his patience. Arathea hesitated between them, glancing from face to face. Of course, she knew exactly what the human meant. And Na Vanum wanted to keep Emma ignorant of that fact.

"Don't be stupid."

Emma tilted her head.

"You _are _the reason you've not been feeling well."

Na Vanum forced his teeth to stop grinding. Forced them to flash in a smile. He did not need Arathea to assume the same stupid things.

"I tend to forget… you understand very little of my situation."

She stared, and said, "Anyone would draw the same conclusion."

Danarius had been stirring inside him throughout their conversation. Finally, he was rousing from the nightmare. Emma had that interesting effect. At least she was good for something.

The magister's inner voice was weak.

"_Tell her… I will explain."_

"_I_," Vanum placed the emphasis to suggest Danarius's involvement, "will explain, later. For now, this must wait. Come, elf."

He left Emma's folded arms and accusing stare.

vVv

They gathered their bags and stepped into their shoes. Out the door into crisp air and markets to explore.

Yanwen's stomach dove when they approached the guard awaiting them at the gates.

"We've an escort?" her strides slowed. "Ugh."

"Of course we do," frowned Imraddon.

Thanron nodded in agreement.

"You saw what it was like out there."

She scowled and glanced away.

"But, does it have to be…?"

_That copper sore?_

vVv

Emma combed the cottage for company. No Yanwen polishing the guards' armor. Nor Elen dusting the parlor's many shelves. Mal wasn't the sort to talk while he worked, Emma had long since discovered, so she left him to whistle his happy tune and wash the windows. Larus was nowhere to be found, the busy bee.

She pushed open the door to the kitchens with a ready smile.

It fell when neither Thanron nor Imraddon was there to answer it.

Only Fenris lifted his head, from atop a stool before the kitchen island. It was amusing to see him perched upon a stool with so grim a gaze.

"Hello, Fenris."

His mouth twitched, as if in debate of a smile— perhaps, swallowing a grimace.

"Hello, Emma."

He was drinking tea. Emma decided she fancied herself a cup. She crossed the room and opened the cupboards.

"Can I get you anything?" asked Fenris. The scraping of wooden legs upon the floor. She reached a hand to retrieve a brown mug from its high perch.

"No, thank you, it's just tea—"

A hand flashed to grasp the mug before she could.

"I insist."

Emma turned with a frown. He was already filling the kettle with water.

"If you insist," she said and plopped down upon the second stool. Fenris positioned the kettle to heat over the cooking the fire. "Not following Danarius today?"

"Danarius isn't in," he replied. "And Na Vanum prefers solitude."

"Is that so?"

A long silence ensued, until her subconscious was determined to end it with a little, unpermitted outburst:

"Iwas not in love with Danarius."

Emma wanted to crawl underneath the stool. The words had simply erupted from her mouth before she could intervene, as they were wont to do. And she sounded like an insistent child who refused to relent.

"Fine," said Fenris. And he did sound like an adult relenting to the fussing child. "Before the spell, you were not in love with Danarius."

She added, "Now, I am," for good measure. To ensure that she would never be able to speak to the elf again without feeling the ache of humiliation.

Fenris said, "Now, you are."

"I'm sorry."

Maker, it was as if someone had slipped a truth serum into her breakfast this morning. Things were just spilling out.

The elf's hand stilled around the retrieval of a teabag. His brow furrowed as he pulled it from the box.

"You have nothing to apologize—"

"Please— accept my apology," Emma insisted.

For this conversation, for being hot and cold, for starting that awful argument yesterday, for rejecting him countless times.

His tone hinted a tinge of anger, but he inclined a glance. It was shaded by locks, the corner of his lips lifted in a smile.

"You couldn't think that I fault you."

"Of, course you don't," said Emma. "You're far too masochistic for that."

His lip twitched again. The smile widened a smidge as he reached for the hot kettle.

"I accept your unnecessary apology."

Emma pushed out a breath of exasperation, and leaned over the counter to rest her head against folded arms. He set the tea by her head and she straightened to taste it. It was bitter.

Oh, well. She supposed she should take what little guilt he offered. And, she didn't deserve his forgiveness in the first place. It was a selfish request.

But, something about it spoken aloud like that. Simply. She needed to. The road's apologies were different. Absorbed by the chaotic swirling of her mind. She wanted Danarius too violently to think straight. Now, the magister was near— even if a demon manipulated his limbs— and that seemed to quell the mayhem. To help her mind wrap around Fenris as his own special company. As he used to be.

And, the two men together in the same house provided a stark contrast for Emma. It was increasingly apparent that she knew and understood Fenris (or at least, enough to manage). While Danarius… she knew very little about him.

The air tasted better between Fenris and Emma. He didn't seem to concave inside himself. The elf stood a bit taller, his brow untightened.

Emma's apology was an implied truce.

And something had given way inside her. Like a book wrenched from the bottom of a tall stack. The books collapsed in her mind, fell to reveal this stories. Fell like a stack of excuses— reasons, justifications why interacting with Fenris was bad. The itching feeling. That stack of excuses fell to reveal that they were nonsense. Something had given way last night, after Hadriana's threats. Now, she felt strange. Strangely pleasant. That familiar feeling rushed through her veins. It made her heart beat faster.

That awful woman. Emma hadn't wanted to tell Fenris to wait for her. Not at all. And, though it was awful and painful— she was glad to feel something that was hers alone. Not the spell's, but her own free feeling.

Emma stared at him for an itch-free moment— the first comfortable moment that arose from staring at Fenris in a good while.

She help up her cup.

"Could you add mint leaves to it?" asked Emma.

Was that her imagination or had his ears reddened when he reached for the herb jar?

vVv

The stare was palpable. It bore into her cheek as she remained fixed upon a sprouting of weeds between cobblestone. Intent, as it always was. He studied her like the scholar studies ink across a page. A scholar, that hated the black words.

When she glanced up, he was still studying. Brows slightly drawn together. Eyes slightly narrowed. Hand slightly reaching for his sword like it itched to cut her down, but— probably, just to remind her. Keep herself to herself, his stare warned. Or he'd unsheathe the sword.

Krayg flicked eyes to Imraddon, who nodded once. Then, he turned on his heels and motioned for the elves to follow.

They all exchanged a quick glance, Elen weaving her arm around Yanwen's, before moving to step out the open gate. They waited for Krayg to close it, listening to its long forbidding creak, sharp clang— there.

Cut off from safety. Cut off from their haven.

Imraddon cleared his throat and named the first item on his list. Krayg pointed the way and followed close behind their step.

It wasn't so bad. It was a nicer side of the market than the one they'd seen. It was gated off, and Krayg needed to show a piece of parchment to its guards for the elves to be allowed inside. Few elves were found in this community. When they did see one, the elf was relatively clean and accompanied by a human, guard or master. There was still the hostility, still the fear— but there were no hunched bodies or wide eyed children in rags.

The shops were clean. Neat. And their keepers kept their noses in parchment while Imraddon and the others browsed. Only in the bakery did Thanron receive a slap on the wrist after reaching for a lemon square. The slap was from Imraddon.

They each filled up a basket. A heavy one. When Imraddon realized that their goods were too many for just the four elves to carry, Yanwen began to push hers in Krayg's direction, so she could carry another. He shoved the basket away and she nearly dropped it.

"I'm a guard," he told her. "I'll not swing about your bloody basket."

"No one asked you to swing it about," said Yanwen.

When they'd finished gathering what else they could on the list, the five made their way back through the market, toward the gate.

They were stopped by a woman— or rather, Krayg was.

The woman grabbed him by the sleeve and thrust his arm, reached her other hand to grip his shoulder. The guard tensed a moment and twitched for his sword, before meeting her gaze. Hers was brown and wet, but she wore a smile. She had thick, brown curls that settled about her hips. She was pretty. She was happy to see him.

Yanwen stared, raised her brows.

There was someone happy to see Krayg. Maker, anything was possible.

Her brows raised higher as Krayg wrapped his arms around the woman and wrenched her to his body. She grunted, she giggled, she sniffed. And Krayg gripped her tight all the while, copper locks mingling with her curls.

She was still smiling as she pulled away.

Then, the woman raised her hands. She made them turn in fluid movements, brushing her face, turning them this way and that before her chest, fingers dancing.

Krayg shook his hand. His gaze was pained. He licked his lips and glanced away. To Yanwen. Back to the woman.

"No, got back yesterday," he said, voice throaty. He was going to cry and didn't want to. "Tali… I'm sorry. I've been working up the…"

The woman's eyes were widening. Her pretty pink lips were starting to shake.

"There was a mage… he attacked us. I couldn't stop it—" he cut off abruptly, glanced at Yanwen again. Ah. He didn't want to cry in front of her.

The woman's mouth was open. She was shaking her head.

"We can make it back on our own," Imraddon was saying.

Krayg didn't meet his eyes. His shoulders were trembling. She couldn't see what sort of face he was making with his head turned down, copper locks falling to hide him. What sort of face—

"Come, Yanwen."

She tore her gaze away from Krayg. The elves were collected and waiting for her. Yanwen joined them.

On their way back to the estate, Thanron was the first to burst.

"So, that must've been—… what's-his-name's girl."

Elen said, "Bentley."

"Yeah," Thanron locked fingers behind his head, "Bentley's girl. Talks with her hands. Strange, that. Never seen it before. Which country d'you think they speak with their hands?"

Yanwen frowned. She supposed he wouldn't know, being castle-born.

"That woman cannot speak with her mouth," said Imraddon. "She has to speak with her hands."

"Oh… why?"

"It can be caused by many things. Whatever the reason, she seems able to read lips. And she answers with her hands."

"Can you speak hand?"

"No."

"I can," said Elen.

Thanron stared at her.

"Why am I not surprised?"

"Because it isn't surprising," she replied.

vVv

Arathea stared about the study as Na Vanum passed a rifling hand along his many book shelves. It was quite extraordinary, how in like the two studies were. Hundreds of miles away and just the same.

"'Two lovers must cross swords when their rival kingdoms declare war'— no," Na Vanum slid the book back in its place and chose another. "'Valian Fil wants to be Tevinter's greatest baker'— honestly, Danarius." He grabbed a new book, "Do do do— when father is taken do do do, makes a deal with the beast to take his place… hm." Tapping its cover with his knuckle, he stepped to sit beside Arathea, who stared in confusion.

"Let's begin," he said, plopping the book into the elf's lap.

"Pardon me, but aren't we going to discuss my free—?"

"There's nothing to discuss. I said I would help you practice reading." Arathea tensed when he reached over her lap to open the book. "Start."

Why had he lied to Emma?

She rested fingers upon the page and swallowed.

"'On…see'…"

"Once."

"'Once'," Arathea flushed, "'uh—open'?"

"Upon."

"'Once upon a'— well, that word's _time_, then, isn't it?"

"Yes."

She swallowed again.

"Actually, Larus and I are still— he's teaching me what each letter sounds like… and looks like."

"He will continue to do so, and that should make this easier for you. Read on."

Her flush deepened.

"I can't."

"Of course, you can't. But you'll recognize words after seeing them enough times." He pointed at a word toward the bottom of the page. "What's that one?"

She did recognize it.

"'Uh—upon'."

"See? One word at a time, elf. Continue."

Ara cleared her throat.

She still didn't understand why a demon would take the time to teach an elven slave how to read.

"'Once upon a time…'"

vVv

The wagon bumbled along cobblestone. But after seeing the dismal streets, Emma couldn't shake the horrible thought of each bump they rolled over— as a limb, crushed beneath the carriage's pretty, wooden wheels. A wheel that could probably have fetched them a month's supper. She imagined a starving family at their table, leaning over to gnaw at the wheel's edge.

She squeezed her eyes shut, and opened them as something shoved her foot.

The elf stared out the window, chin resting against his palm. Lights passed over his skin, little glowing orbs that tripped inside his eyes.

Emma dropped her gaze, only to raise it upon receiving another shove to her foot. She frowned at Fenris. He feigned innocence and ignorance to her accusing stare. Emma shoved his foot in return. The elf started upon her touch and glanced at her in question. It was rather convincing, his startlement, but she knew better. She glared at him and turned to begin speaking with Arathea— before a another shove snatched her words.

"Fenris!"

He turned from the window to answer with a, "Yes, my lady?"

A flicked glance to Na Vanum confirmed that he was far too busy reading to give a damn what she needed of the elf. She returned her gaze to the elf's innocent frown.

Emma narrowed her eyes and began to glance away before turning abruptly to see if she might catch him in the act. Of course, Fenris had made no move to shove her that time, and stared with lips mashed together in an obvious struggle not to laugh. She found herself holding back a smile herself.

The ride became a game of catching the other's shoves— not reacting too animatedly, lest Na Vanum notice, which made it all the more hilarious— and Emma thought not of the families beneath their wheels.

Lord Nam's mansion was big and Tevintery, just like the rest of them. Tall spires, great arches, and immaculate stained glass windows. Gorgeous and exhaustingly gaudy. The entire city was just one pompous peacock, spreading its feathers. Arathea was amazed and excited, so Emma simply smiled at her observations and swallowed her opinions.

They were announced as they entered— it felt ridiculous. Emma had begun to walk right in, Ara at her arm, when she was stopped by a man with a frumpled collar and a twirling mustache. He instructed them (after passing Arathea a rather rude up-and-down) to wait at the entrance until he announced their arrival.

Amusingly, lots of people wished to speak with Danarius. Lots of people that looked similar to their announcer. That is to say, they all looked as though something rotten were being held beneath their mustaches. Na Vanum wore the same sort of expression, because he did not desire to speak with them, at all. But, he seemed obligated to, so he carried on in their exchanges. His words left his lips in a forced manner, as though he were being fed responses. Emma watched in curiosity until she was exasperated by the horrifically dull nature of their chats. As she began to slip away, Na Vanum nodded for Fenris to accompany her.

Soon after, Emma discovered that she, too, needed to partake in some boring chatter. Many people wanted to meet the "once a slave wife to Danarius". They wanted to hear her story. How did she manage to ensnare— yes, that was the lovely term— someone like Danarius? What was it like, being a free woman? Did she thank the Maker every thirty seconds? Emma tired of such questions the first time around. By the fifth go, she was clenching her wine in a vice-like grip and biting her tongue. When the eighth couple approached, with the same sort of questions at the ready, Emma found a way to amuse herself.

"Do tell us," they'd drawl, "just _how _did you _obtain_ Lord Vanashidion's _affec_tion?"

"_Well_," she would mimic their speech, "I simply _hypnotized _him. He's under my control as we _speak_."

Fenris choked back a laugh beside her, disguising it with a cough into his fist. Emma's lips trembled as she fought off smiles. Her responses grew more and more absurd with each nobel's introduction, until they became absolutely nonsensical.

"Try to remain stone faced," she giggled as the next man pranced their way.

Fenris nodded once and swiped a hand along his face, forcing his features to harden.

After a short introduction, the man was exclaiming, frumples aquiver,

"Positively _scandalous_, that a magister like _him_ would marry a Fereldon slave of no magic!"

"_What's _even _more _scand_alous,' _Emma's mocking drawl had escalated into a kind of yodel, "is that I'm _actually _a _horse!_"

Fenris was shaking beside her, a hand cupping his smile. The elf failed rather miserably at their game, with his vain attempts to hide his laughter. He would pretend to be inspecting the design of a column, when he was really leaning on it for support.

To the next inquiring noble, she yodeled,

"I would crack _eggs _upon his _head _and _bake_ him into a _glorious _cake."

When the scowling noble flounced off, Fenris and Emma burst at the seams.

"_What in Maker's name— _?" the elf tried.

Emma couldn't reply, she could only shake her head and fight for breath.

They continued to laugh, fewer and fewer nobles approaching them as word must have spread that the Lady Vanasidhion was quite rude— and more than a little mad. Their next game was to reenact the encounters, Fenris attempting to quietly mimic the noble's speech (he wouldn't have others hearing him be so disrespectful) that shredded Emma's insides. The low pitch of the elf's yodel sounded absolutely absurd, and they each nearly buckled at the knees.

vVv

She was breathtaking to behold. Not because of the black Tevinter dress— that looked rather foolish.. Like a sheep dressed in wolf's clothing. And it wasn't the hair, curls framing her face in the most recent fashion— she couldn't have tolerated frumpiness without the proper amount of protest… ah, yes, he caught her combing fingers through her hair on several occasions, in attempt to loosen the locks.

Her radiant smile was the thing responsible for his aching heart.

She was doubled over in laughter. Then, her head was tilted back with a hand covering her mouth. She wiped her eyes, she gripped the elf to keep from falling over, she massaged her sore cheeks.

Demetri stared and sipped his wine when he wasn't forced to talk with people. This went on for an hour, until Crain finally erupted beside him.

"Would you just go over and have your bloody chat—"

"Yes, alright," he rubbed the back of his hot neck, "stay where I can see you."

"I'm not a kid, you twat."

vVv

It was during Fenris's fifth attempt to quietly yodel that a voice broke through their laughter.

"It's good to see you're doing well."

Emma raised her head at the familiar sound, still clutching her stomach.

"Oh! Demetri!"

He stood before them with a wary frown.

"You've managed to offend the entire room—"

"How are you?" cried Emma. "It feels like it's been forever since I've seen you."

Demetri seemed concerned.

"How much wine have you had to drink?"

Emma blinked and glanced down at her glass before lifting it to him.

"This."

His brow furrowed in doubt.

"Half a glass?"

"Well, I've spilled a lot."

Fenris snorted a stifled laugh and Demetri turned the frown to him.

Then, the melodic harp was abruptly accompanied with strings, lutes, and soft drums. Couples took hands and sashayed toward the room's middle.

"Would you like to dance?" Demetri held out a hand.

Emma smiled and passed Fenris the wine.

vVv

The Archon's son led her to join the other dancers and they fell into step.

"So," he said. "How was the journey?"

Emma wrinkled her nose.

"Awful."

"What happ—"

Mention of the long, violent trek sobered her. And she cleared her throat, causing Demetri to pause in question.

"I could hardly function during the trip—" said Emma. "I wasn't myself at all, and, if I'm being honest, I can't imagine leaving Danarius. I've only just started feeling better, and I think that's because he's near."

Demetri nodded, "It will be difficult to leave him. But, you will be much better off."

"I know that."

"I've already met with several people willing to help you escape. Your papers for passage in the docks are being drawn up as we speak. Probably. He might have gone to bed, he's sort of old." A sudden worry struck him. "Ancient, actually. I do hope he doesn't die before writing those documents. It will be very difficult to find someone else, willing. And, word gets about when one asks too many people for favors like that—"

Emma let out a soft laugh.

"I'd forgotten how amusing you are."

Demetri flushed.

"Amusing, how?" he glared. "This is serious, Emma."

"Yes," she nodded, still smiling, "I'm sorry."

"Erm," he slowed their step, "One of the people aiding in your escape is here tonight."

"Oh, no, really?" she turned her head about, hoping it wasn't one of the people she had been especially rude to. "I wish you'd told me sooner. Where?"

"Eh— well," Demetri peered into the crowd, "where did she… ah, of course." He pointed a finger to the refreshments table. "She's the woman stuffing her face and guzzling wine, being inconspicuous, just as I requested a million times. Helena Crain."

"Oh, she's beautiful! Is she your lover?"

Demetri screwed his face up and shook his head.

"Maker, no. She is an absolute menace. If there was anyone else that could do the job better— anyone, Emma— I would have preferred them. But, irrefutably, Crain is an expert at what she does, and I know you will be safest with her."

"What does she do?"

"Smuggling. From drugs to fortune to people— there is no one better to ask. She's always been successful in smuggling what I've requested of her. She's determined to protest otherwise, however. Crain would rather be a pirate known as Salty Dog than a smuggler. But, she isn't good at piracy, apparently. The rumor is that she's 'too soft', though I haven't yet been able to confirm that. I would bet that if she changed her tactics to being an awful nuisance to her targets, talking their ears off and behaving horribly, they would hand over their treasure just to shut her up—"

Demetri lost his breath, and took a moment to gulp down some air.

"I hate her."

Emma nudged his arm.

"You hated me, too, remember? Now, look. You're liberating me."

Demetri shook his head.

"I blindly hated you, Emma. I liked you when I got to know you better. Crain… I know everything about her. Because she won't shut up. Really, she won't. I know her whole life story and I still have to stop myself from killing her every day."

Emma laughed.

He returned the smile with a wince.

"I sound like a hypocrite, talking your head off."

"A bit."

"Actually," he frowned, "This is the most I've talked in— since the night we dined together. I'm sorry."

"Not a problem," Emma smiled, "I like listening to you." She looked to the woman, "Now, time to introduce me."

Demetri shook his head.

"I don't want to. I've talked myself out of it— though— it is probably best that you speak alone, anyway, so as not to arouse suspicion."

Emma smiled with rolling eyes and stepped away to greet the woman herself.

Helena Crain was startlingly beautiful, even if Demetri wouldn't admit it. Her skin glowed a dusky brown, like someone who spent their entire life out of doors. And her body seemed sculpted from the finest clay, every muscle taut beneath her flush. Yet, she was slim and elegant. Her hair made up of fat, strawberry locks— clumped together in a strange way that Emma had never seen— and braided to fall down her back. The woman's face was angular, her eyes gleaming light brown, almost a yellow— like a cat's.

Contrasting to her beauty, the woman inhaled hors d'oeuvre and licked her fingers before grabbing more.

"Excuse me," Emma said to the woman's back, tucking a lock behind her ear.

Crain turned with a ready grin, muttering the word _finally _under her breath. When she discovered Emma standing before her, the smile fell.

"Oh, it's you," she said. "I thought that lass was finally asking me to dance."

Her voice was hoarse, as though she'd spent the entire day yelling. Was that her natural voice or did she really talk as much as Demetri described?

"Um—" Emma turned in curiosity, "which one?"

The woman furrowed brows around a smile, like she hadn't expected Emma to ask, and was pleasantly surprised. She gripped Emma's shoulder with one hand and lifted a finger to point— no, thrust at arm's length— toward a woman across the room. The woman took immediate notice of the finger with a flinch of surprise. Crain persisted however, pointing until Emma described the woman's yellow hair and petite form.

"That's the one," Crain dropped her arm.

Emma sighed in relief that the blatant pointing was over.

"Well," she said, "I can dance with you until she draws up the courage. If you'd like."

The woman's face brightened.

"Yeah! Let's make 'er jealous, the cute fuck. Great idea, what's your name?"

"E—"

"Did that bag of wet sandwiches tell you who I am?"

"Y—"

"Name's Helena Crain. Call me Crain, or Salty Dog— that's my alias on the open sea. I'm a pirate— probably didn't tell you that, either. I'm a pirate, and a bloody good one, at that. Ever heard of Jenky-Sea-Bomb? 'Course you have. I throttled him. Yeah, made it like we were gonna tossle—"

"Tossle?"

"Sorry, made it like we were gonna fuck. To think he believed me, the filthy, little rat. I don't hate men, but I got standards if they haven't got tits—know what I mean?"

"I think so—"

"Anyway, I had him right where I wanted him, I'm sat on his face, yeah?"

"Oh, my—"

"And, stupid shit, doesn't know I've got a knife held over his gut. I told 'im this, right with his mouth under my—"

Emma winced.

"—he cried like a baby and gave me his loot. Hey, you know, I like you. You're much better company'n'stick-up-his-ass over there. Thought you'd be like him 'since you're mates. Anyway, good to meet you, I'm at your service. You're a shit dancer, though, anyone ever told you that? Probably not, you're too nice to be honest with. I'm gonna go see if that girl's found her balls yet."

Just like that, Crain left Emma to stand there, mouth agape, and strode to the woman that had been inspecting her. Emma doubted it was more due to attraction than fascination— but who could refuse someone so aggressive?

She began to walk to Demetri when he shook his head and nodded toward Fenris. Emma stepped to the elf's side and expelled a long sigh.

"Who was that?" he asked.

"_That _was Helena Crain and I need to sit down."

vVv

Larus and Arathea were immersed in some brilliant conversation, surely, when Na Vanum approached. He saw the healer's slowing steps, his growing disinterest in twirling the elf around the ballroom, but no one else was willing to dance with Arathea— he couldn't just leave the woman to twiddle her thumbs, could he?

Na Vanum was there to save the day because he, shockingly, was willing to stoop so low as to dance with Arathea. Larus didn't need to know that he had been watching the couple like a hawk, waiting for the moment that the foolish healer would say,

"Arathea, I'm sorry. I think I'm going to have to call it a night for dancing."

Splendid.

"Oh, just one more—"

_No_, elf, can't you see the man is exhausted?

"Let's go… sit and watch, yes?"

NO.

"Oh, please, Larus, just one more—"

Na Vanum stepped before them with eyes he forced not to appear eager, but rather bored and only slightly interested.

"I'm amazed," he said in a tone that spelled anything but amazement. "You two have participated in every dance."

Just as he intended, Larus seemed to exhaust even more upon hearing the words.

"Yes, well," he said. "I think I've reached my limit."

Arathea smiled and rubbed his arm.

"Alright," she began, "let's go sit—"

Na Vanum interrupted, "I haven't danced a number yet. Would you like to continue dancing, Arathea?"

Larus furrowed his brow.

"I don't think I've seen you dance a step in all the time I've been aware of you."

"_Nice. 'Been aware'. He couldn't have said 'known'._"

"_Don't take it personally,_"Danarius sighed_. _"_You are trying to steal his elf, after all._"

"_He doesn't know that._"

"_I wish you wouldn't,_"said Danarius, for the thousandth time.

"_You wish a lot of things._"

Na Vanum smiled at Larus.

"There's a first time for everything."

The healer was hesitant to the idea, but Na Vanum didn't detect a serious concern for the demon's dancing with Arathea (the poor idiot). All the man needed was a final shove.

"It will be good for this ball to see a human other than you dancing with Arathea. Especially, one so influential as Danarius."

Larus didn't need to chew it over. He nodded in complete agreement.

"You're right," said the healer. "You have my permission, then."

He turned with that and sought refuge upon a distant chair. Arathea watched his leave with a small frown.

"Do you feel betrayed?" Na Vanum asked with a tilted of his head. "To be, quite literally, handed over to a demon?"

Ara said, in a small voice that couldn't contain the lie, "I don't know what you mean."

"You did want to dance," he reasoned.

"Yes. Thank you." A thin line formed between her brows. "You always…"

Na Vanum frowned when Arathea let the sentence trail.

"What?"

She shook her head, to his vexation, and held out a hand to him. The demon accepted, as a human woman might, and they began to dance.

Na Vanum didn't tell her how exquisite she looked in the dress he bought specifically for her. Nor how badly he wanted to contradict his own pleasure in seeing her wear it by ripping it off. And not that she was more intriguing than any creature in the room.

But the elf knew that Na Vanum found her interesting. He could feel it buzzing like whispers beneath her skin. She knew that he wanted to rip off the dress that flowed like fresh blood over her breasts. And she knew that he bought it for her, and only her.

It frightened the elf.

And still, she danced with him.

vVv

Yanwen took the two bags of garbage from Imraddon's hands, despite his protests. She reminded him that he had more than enough to do before supper, and to leave the small task to her. He turned back to the kitchens with an appreciative frown.

Adjusting the hefty bags in her hands, Yanwen lugged them to the cottage front, where garbage collectors would swing by before the light of morning.

Just outside the entrance gate, she dropped them down along the road's edge with a small sigh. What was that on the ground? A coin. She bent to pick it—

"Hey, elfy."

Yanwen shot up, dizzy for a moment from the rushing blood.

Markus stood there, one of the guards that had attended their trip— or at least, he was trying to stand there. He sort of swayed from foot to foot, holding out an arm as if he might brace it upon the gate, but it was several feet too far. He just kept swiping in its direction, like an idiot. The man was definitely coming back from the tavern. Though, he didn't live at the cottage— so he was either passing through or lost.

Yanwen left the coin and stepped past him to the gate— eyes widening when his hand wrapped around her arm and wrenched her back. She tripped over her feet and crashed to the cobblestone.

"Oops," he chuckled. "Only meant to stop you."

He held out a hand to her. Yanwen glared at it and pulled herself up. She had scraped her knee, could feel the blood seeping down her leg. The elf walked past him again.

"Oi!" he called out to her (even though she was only an arm's length away). "Stop. Would you stop? Maker," he grabbed her arm again, and yanked her to slam against the ivy covered wall. He nearly fell over in the process. "You just don't get it, do you? Lemme explain."

Yanwen could barely understand his Arcanum, with how slurred the words were. She turned her face away from his breath as it brushed her face with traces of chicken, ale, and vomit. Her hand clenched a fistful of ivy. She was shaking. She really wanted to kick him where it hurt and get to supper. But he quickly reminded her why she couldn't do that.

"This is Minrathous, elfy. You can't go ignoring a human man like myself. Listen," he patted her shoulder as though he were about to say something uplifting.

"I could slit your throat and get off scotch free," he said, "and if your master takes me to court— that is, if he gives enough of a shit to go to the trouble, which is more than a lot unlikely. If he takes me to court for killing you right now, I'll just tell them what happened. 'I said hey to her and she ignored me'."

Yanwen flinched as he slammed a fist against the wall three times, mimicking the judge's mallet, "'Proven innocent, the bitch ignored Markus,'" he said it a deep voice. "And there you'd have it. You'd be dead and I'd go about my day. It'd take two minutes, tops."

He reached his other hand to grip her face. Yanwen pointed eyes to the stars.

"Ignoring me again," Markus laughed.

Yanwen closed her eyes as he pressed something cold to her throat. She swallowed against the blade and felt its sharp edge.

"What'd you do to Krayg, huh, elfy? Answer me that."

She opened eyes to stare at him.

"Nothing, ser."

"Bullshit," he spat, pressed the blade harder, gripped her face tighter, "A worse crime than to ignore a human is to lie to him."

"I'm telling the truth, ser."

He narrowed his eyes.

"You show me what you did to him— what's got him so fixated on you— and I won't use this blade to open your throat."

"I didn't—" she winced as he dragged the blade across her skin— just enough to draw blood. To show he was serious.

She itched to shove him back, throw him off his meager balance and run inside the estate's safety. But that wouldn't do. The cottage would only be safe until Markus dragged her out of it in demand for her blood, for daring to strike him. Perhaps, he was too drunk to remember…

No. She'd try lying, since the idiot condemned her truth.

"Okay," said Yanwen. "I kissed him."

Markus scrunched up his face.

"You did more than that."

"Is that what you want, ser? A kiss goodnight? Because that's what I gave him."

He drew back the knife with a snort.

"Yeah, alright," he reached down to undo his trousers, "I'll take a kiss." Then, he laid hands upon her shoulders and tried to push Yanwen to her knees.

"Wait—" she shrugged out of his hold, "I didn't— "

"Lie one more time and I'll slit your throat. I swear I will."

He crashed his lips to hers, reaching a hand to clench her breast— it hurt, Yanwen cried out into his mouth.

And then, he was gone.

Sprawled out upon the cobblestones, blinking up at the sky.

Krayg stood there. One hand wiping his mouth and the other around a bottle of rum. He was studying her again, with the same angry dislike as before. His eyes roamed her face until he sniffed hard and spat upon Markus's head.

"What the fuck, Krayg—?"

"You'd be stupid to rape her at the elf lover's gate."

"Fuck you, I—"

"Go home, Markus."

Krayg took a swig of the rum before tipping it over Markus's face, who growled and swatted the air.

"Get up." He turned his stare to Yanwen, "What're you still standing there for? Go."

Markus was dragging himself to his feet— Krayg kicked him back down.

"I said get up."

"Fuck you, Krayg! You said she was mine to take."

Yanwen slipped inside the gate and closed it behind herself with a last glance at Krayg. He was watching her with the rum at his lips. It trailed down his chin. His foot trapped a writhing Markus against the cobblestone.

She stumbled back to the cottage on her throbbing knee, and angrily wiped a tear from her face.

vVv

Hadriana watched their return from the stairs. Her beautiful demon walked in with the rest of the filth, too immaculate to be lumped with their crowd. He seemed tired and content. She wondered which victim had given him satisfaction tonight. Was it a pale, young neck? Did he rip her apart in the fade? Did he leave nothing to recognize?

Then, there was Fenris and Emma, sharing some private, little joke.

How cute.

Fenris checked to see if Na Vanum was looking— he wasn't— and leaned to say something to Emma. She clapped a hand to her mouth and laughed.

Hadriana crept up the stairs and bit her fingers to suppress a giggle of excitement. Stupid, stupid. Oh, deliciously stupid.

She opened the door to her chambers, and paused at the sight of her books, arranged in a neat stack at the table. Hadriana had carelessly left them open that morning, and for a moment felt the ache of fear. Had an elf read their pages while cleaning her room? Did they know her plot?

Then, she barked out a laugh. They couldn't read!

Still laughing she cracked one of the books open and slammed it upon the table.

"Let's see, let's see."

Just to make sure that their happy glances hadn't been a fluke, Hadriana revisited the spell's ingredients. Spindleweed, blood lotus, elfroot— she passed hands over the page and whispered their names. No, she hadn't forgotten anything. Obviously, not the drops of blood.

Emma's blood had been tricky to acquire. Slipped a sleep serum past her lips— only a few drops so as not to rouse her— the inconspicuous reopening of a cut (thankful that their voyage had provided many), and then the extracting of her blood. All without waking Danarius. She couldn't have slipped him the serum, he would have recognized it against his tongue in the morning. Hadriana's heart had pounded so hard as she leaned over the girl, she had worried it would wake him.

As for Fenris, she simply dug out the blood beneath her fingernails.

The potion had taken only a few short hours to make. This, she couldn't simply pour down their throats in the night. They needed to be staring at each other when they drank. Similar to what the Final Ritual demanded. Though, this was a reversal— in the way Emma viewed Fenris.

The night that Fenris and Hadriana had sex, she knew he was in love. But with who? A little digging and a little staring led her to believe it was Emma. Oh, if only it were true! And the tears of relief she had shed after approaching Emma in the hallway. Accused her of being involved with the elf. Emma's reaction only could have meant that it had been true. Which meant, if Hadriana's research was correct, Emma couldn't have been able to see the elf as she once did— what with the effects of the Final Ritual buzzing in her brain. There would be a fog about him, an itching feeling when they neared.

Hadriana needed to lift the fog.

She scoured every book store— every library— every public study until she found a book called _Menal Hidranalim_, a book of silly, little love recipes. The last book she would have expected to contain her answers.

Though the Final Ritual was irreversible, one recipe listed the ingredients to reverse the altered perception of a previous love. Hadriana had positively sobbed when she found it.

And that's what she slipped into the elf's teapot when he was called out to help Mal lift a box. A box of rocks Hadriana had tasked Mal to bring to her chambers. When the elf returned, Hadriana had been looking everywhere for the stupid girl. To threaten her into passing another message along to Fenris over a cup of tea (she had worried it was much too suspicious). Little did she know, Emma was already on her way to sharing the potion.

Hadriana fell back atop the bed with a laugh.

So beautifully lucky. The Maker was smiling upon her.

vVv

_Yay, long chapter. And Fenris had a pretty good day today! For the first time, since the wedding. _

_Thanks so much for sticking with this story :)_

_Lady Velvet C. Peterson: Midnight classes are absurd. I will never sign up for one. Good luck! At least we only have a few more weeks. _

_ Ava: Thank so much :) Sorry for the wait, hope you enjoyed reading this chapter. _

_ AmberJF: I'm delighted that you enjoy the development of a pairing like Na Vanum and Arathea. I've thought of a good next step for them (I hope). It has to do with Ara's past. I love writing Imraddon and Thanron bits. They're like an old married couple. The Krayg and Yanwen arc is fun to explore, as well. I really appreciate the attentive reading, thanks so much :)_


	86. Guards

vVv

"Would you like a hand with that?"

Thanron adjusted the great box in his arms. It carried all sorts of kitchenware that had better be important.

"Nu-uh," he grunted. "Doesn't weigh much."

He nearly dropped it, the tip of his shoe catching on the doorstep. This stuff had better be _damn_ important. "It's this way, right? Can't see—" The box was cutting into his arm, was gonna be a bruise. His knees quaked and threatened to buckle with every step. Thanron grit his teeth and ground his brow against the wood. He could carry this lousy box. He'd seen Imraddon carry it from the shed for the welcome feast. The stupid git didn't even blink as he'd lifted it from the ground, carried it to the kitchens. It was nothing to him.

"Damn," Thanron straightened his back with a growl. He could feel himself weakening. But he could make it. Just a little more.

The weight disappeared from his sweating palms, his arms lifting up and aching in its absence.

"Hey…" said Thanron. "I was…"

Imraddon held the box with ease— just as before— and was walking towards the kitchen as though he held no more than a single pot.

"Jeez," Thanron stretched, twisted at the waist. "Did anyone think of separating that shit into two boxes?"

"I will," said Imraddon.

Thanron stared at his back. Not a bead of sweat on the elf's neck.

Resting the box upon the kitchen table, Imraddon gazed about and rubbed his chin. He opened a few cabinets, rifled through the pantry. "Danarius is hosting a dinner tonight," said Imraddon. "We need the remaining items on that list. I would collect them, but I really must begin prepar—"

"Sure, I'll get 'em—"

"I'll go," Yanwen set aside her breakfast and stood.

Imraddon nodded, "You'll have to take a guard."

"Right."

Thanron snorted. She just wanted some one-on-one time with the ginger guard, no doubt. Imraddon handed Yanwen the list and told her that she would need the guard to read it to her, adding that the lines running across the letters meant that they had those. Yanwen insisted that Imraddon tell her the items on the list, in case the guard decided not to cooperate. Then, she tucked it inside her robes and hurried off, repeating the items under her breath.

Apparently, Imraddon wasn't blind to her intent, either.

"Yet another dangerous affair," he sighed. "That makes three."

"Yeah, well, people'll have who they want."

"But at what cost?"

"That isn't up to us, it's their risk. Where's the peeler?"

"Where it always is."

Thanron pulled open the drawer beside him and fished out the peeler.

"Want me to peel potatoes?"

He pushed off the counter and headed for the pantry.

"Let me grab— I overloaded that, as well."

Thanron grit his teeth and opened the pantry door. He tried not to look strained as he retrieved the bag with one hand and carried it across the kitchen. Yeah, the lout overloaded it, alright. Thanron's anger over that fact provided him strength.

"It's not heavy?"

"Nope."

Was he trying to embarrass him?

No. Imraddon wouldn't pull a stunt like that.

And there was never an issue before, with heavy things. Thanron used to openly grunt and groan and drag things across the floor. He'd ask for help. He'd whine that his back hurt, that his fingers ached. Imraddon would help him out and there used to be no shame in that.

But now, he tried to hide the effort. He forced his expression to remain even, despite the strain.

He dropped the bag when he meant to carefully set it down. But that was easy to disguise as bein' an ass. Thanron wrapped a foot around the leg of a footstool and drug it over to sit on. He pulled out the first potato and set to rough strokes along its skin.

"Are you alright?"

A sudden burst of heat rose in his chest. Hot and aching. Thanron raised a hand to brace against the cool, marble countertop and took a moment to breathe. The heat pulsed in his veins.

"Ugh."

The inside of his mouth tasted like ashes. He coughed once and swallowed the strangeness that coated his tongue.

Imraddon was beside him.

"What is it?"  
Thanron shook his head, held up a hand.

"I'm fine—"

They both paused at the awful croak that was his voice.

He swallowed, "I'll go with Yanwen. Need some air."

The elf nodded, his brow pinched in thought.

vVv

There were a lot more men collected in the guards' quarters than she had anticipated. Or it could have only seemed so, with every man's eyes trained on her. Their lips curled in unwarranted hate. It's not like she even knew their names, let alone did anything to upset them— most of them. Marcus glared at her with a personal kind of dislike. She'd dared to refuse him, after all.

Only one man did not raise his head upon her entry. He simply brought a mug of something steaming to his lips and studied the message board upon the wall.

"I'm to do some shopping this morning," she finally announced to them all. "I'll be needing an escort."

Yanwen nearly flinched as the entire room erupted in violent laughter.

"Seems you can escort yourself," one man replied as the others snickered. "Word is you're good at it."

"Which one's next, do you think?"

"Not me—

"I wouldn't mind givin' it a try—"

"Wouldn't if my life depended on it—

Krayg simply read and sipped from his mug, impassive to the ruckus surrounding him. He must have finished reading every last word on the board, twice over.

"Really, if someone would just come with me…"

She scowled as they twisted her words again, several raising hands that they would be glad to do so around wolfish grins.

"Nevermind, then."

Turning on her heels, Yanwen left them to their animalistic howling and slammed the door shut behind her. Idiots. She didn't need any help from those useless louts.

Thanron was waiting at the gate when she arrived.

"You're coming along?"

"What— no guard?"

"We don't need one."

Yanwen yanked open the gate and stepped outside, Thanron behind her with a frown.

He said, "Right, we definitely _do_…"

She shoved it shut with a small grunt.

"That lot does more harm than good. Let's just hurry."

vVv

"Papers."

Yanwen dipped a hand inside her robes for rolled up nonsense which the guard snatched to scan with bored eyes.

"Enter."

Thanron followed close behind Yanwen, nodding a thanks to the guard as they passed.

"Be careful," he said, and the elves turned back to find a strange smile behind the gate's bars. "Not a day to be foolish, is it?"

They walked away with matching confusion.

vVv

The demon stretched his jaws to accommodate a yawn, resting his arms across the seat's cushion behind him. Arathea became very aware that the length of his arm was brushing her neck. Unintentionally, it seemed, and yet— not unintentional. Or did she over analyze? She chewed her lips in thought. Why did she draw up such conclusions? Why couldn't she ignore the skin touching hers?

"Why do you stop?" came the tired inquiry.

Ara flushed, realizing she had, and began to read the next line—

"Well, perhaps you should."

She glanced up in question.

Na Vanum studied her as he so often did these days.

"I'm tired," he finally explained.

Ara's lips formed an "o" and she closed the book with a mumbled apology. He moved his arm away and Arathea shifted uncertainly in its absence— she frowned.  
"You do not bore me," Na Vanum said around a vague smile. "I feel I've made that abundantly clear."

Her fingers clutched the book.

A hand found itself upon her knee and she moved away with a sharp breath, staring up at him.

"I'm sorry," he said. "I was only testing something."

"Master—"

"Vanum."

Arathea pressed her thumb hard against the book's corner. She said,

"Lord Vanum," her tongue felt like cotton in her mouth, "we shouldn't…be, maybe— "

He clucked his tongue. Eyes darkening.

"If you wish to leave, you may."

She eagerly rose and returned the book to its place atop the shelf.

Upon turning to deliver a polite curtsy, she found lips instead. Pressed against her with a softness that one wouldn't associate with such a swift action. Ara might have cried out, she couldn't be certain. Too present were his fingers along her jaw to take notice in things like that. She only realized she was weeping when saltiness mingled with the kiss. And he hushed her breaths between his, knowing full well it was he who caused him. He, with his darkened eyes, melted like the night's waters. He held her like a lover would—  
—like Larus did.

Ara struck him, and flinched more than he upon the impact. She swallowed a gasp, bit her lip and drew away the shaking hand. Her teeth chattered so that not even a plea for forgiveness could leave it. There was a redness spreading across his cheek.

Vanum did not react. She might have trailed gentle fingers in affection for the way he looked at her. Ara wanted to strike him again. For the way he made her feel to be looked at by him. His silver locks were disheveled— had she twisted fingers in his hair? His mouth was glistening. It wouldn't have been so with a chaste kiss.

She wanted to strike him again.

"Please, ser."

Na Vanum said nothing.

Arathea shook her head. Glanced at the door. Yearned to flee through it. She did and the demon didn't stop her.

vVv

Yanwen frowned at the broom set.

"It's not on the list, but we need a new broom. Ours makes more of a mess than it cleans."

The shopkeep had glanced up from polishing his counter when they'd entered, and straightened with the sight of their ears. Thanron was keeping an eye on him, ready to grab Yanwen and run at the first sign of trouble.

Thanron dropped his voice, "How much money did he give you?"

The shopkeeper watched the coin leave Yanwen's hand. What was he about?

Yanwen said, "However much this is," holding them out. "Think it's enough?"

"Yeah, that's plenty. Two'll be enough for the lot."

Yesterday, Imraddon had bought four basket's worth of groceries; all with just three silver coins of the handful she was holding.

"I'm getting it, then."

"Look out, Minrathous," Thanron smirkingly took her basket, "Yanwen's outta control."

She rolled her eyes and lifted the broom out of its barrel.

Thanron set to dispensing their goods atop the pristine counter. The shopkeep marked their purchase into his charter and stared at Yanwen expectantly. As she dropped two silver into his open palm, Thanron said, "If you don't swat the broom about like you're killing monster rats, this one'll last a day."

"What? I don't swat—"

"I've seen you do it—

"I sweep like a regular elf, thanks—"

"Hey."

They turned to the shopkeep. His hand was still held out, unmoved.

"Your total is five coin," he glared, "but I'll be taking an additional two for the insult."

Before a blank faced Yanwen could reply, Thanron cut in.

"Uh— we practically bought your entire stock yesterday with three silver. Ser," he tacked on.

The shopkeep rested a thick arm along the counter and leaned forward to spit at Thanron's feet. He jerked back in alarm.

"Four for the broom, one for the food. Two for wasting my time. It's seven coin or I'm calling the guards."

Thanron felt the tingle of heat in his blood. Ordinarily, he'd bite the arrow and surrender. But today wasn't the kinda day where he felt like it. The heat coaxed him on.

"Four coin for a lousy broom? S'it made o' gold, Ser? Gonna fly us back home?"

The shopkeep stared at him before barking a laugh.

"Oi! Guards!"

Almost immediately, a roll eating guardsman entered the shop. He eyed Thanron up and down.

"What is it, Bems?"

"This elf is attempting to steal my broom."

The guard crammed the roll into his mouth and crossed the shop, Thanron laughing like fire wasn't threatening to jet from his palms.

"You can't be serious!" He grabbed the coin from Yanwen and raised it for the two men to see. "I could buy every broom in Minrathous, f'I wanted. See? Don't got a reason to steal, Ser— wasn't gonna. This shopkeep's tryin' to cheat me."

The guard behaved as though he held naught but dirt in his fist.

"Silence, elf," he growled. "You're disturbing the peace."

Yanwen snatched the coin from Thanron and turned to the shopkeep, laying it all before him.

"Take the coin, ser, take the lot. We're very sorry— please, let us be on our way."

"Now, I can't do that, she-elf," he gestured to Thanron in mock apology, "This bastard has accused me of cheating him. He needs to be dealt with."

The guard reached for him, and Thanron leapt back.

"Hey— wait, this—"

"Thanron!"

When the guard lunged for Thanron a second time, he held a palm to his seeking arm and shoved it back.

"AUGH!"

The guard cradled his arm before holding it out to reveal a handprint of blisters. Thanron stared at it in horror. He'd just sealed his sodden fate.

"You burned me!" cried the guard. "You'll hang for this!"

Yanwen took Thanron's arm to make a run for it, but a second guard had wandered to peer inside the doorway, brow furrowed and eyes searching.

"What's all the fuss about?"

The burned guard furiously pointed.

"Him! Take him! Hang him!

The second guard shook his head.

"No can do, remember?"

Bems perked up from behind his counter.

"That's right! Oh, that's perfect!"

Thanron's head was spinning. The second guard strolled to stand before him, scratching his head.

"Sod it all— minutes before noon-break and I gotta make another trip to the arena…" he cleared his throat with a closed fist and stared down at Thanron. "Elf, I hereby pronounce you a fool."

Bems released a happy chuckle and collected the coin with splayed hands. Yanwen wildly stared from him to Thanron.

"What does that mean?" she demanded. "What's going on?"

The second guard glanced at her in surprise.

"New, eh?" He forced Thanron around and tied his wrists together with a length of rope. "Any elf pronounced a fool on Fool's Day is to fight until death before all of Minrathous…."

Yanwen was out the door and shoving through the crowd before he could finish.

vVv

"It's all my fault, Imraddon— I should have forced a guard to come with, I—"

Imraddon had locked into a bent position, hands wrapped around the rolling pin and flour on his chin.

"I'm so sorry," Yanwen gripped her skirts, "I don't know what to do— what do we do?"

The elf was silent.

She clenched the fabric tighter.

"I'm going to tell Emma," Yanwen said. "Imraddon."

For the first time since she burst into the kitchen — out of breath and panting Thanron's name until she could begin — Imraddon moved.

He straightened. He stared at the dough before him. He absently turned the rolling pin over in his hands.

Then, the dough was flying. It struck the wall with a splat as the rolling pin was hurled off as well. Yanwen flinched when it met a stack of pots and pans that scattered across the tile in a chorus of tin.

The elf left the kitchens with a string of curses in tow. He only paused his swearing to command Yanwen to stop apologizing.

Then, they were off to find their master. Yanwen had thought they would need Emma to convince Danarius, but Imraddon knew for certain that the magister would act on his own.

They found him in the library, a book draped over his face as he dozed. Yanwen winced at the sight— bad luck that they should have to wake him with bad news. But Imraddon did not hesitate. He lifted the book from their master's face and firmly shook him.

Black eyes opened to stare up at Imraddon.

"Someone better be dead," he murmured.

"If we do not hurry, Thanron will be."

With a blink, the eyes were blue. Their magister left the room with not a word more, Imraddon talking fast beside him.

"Why did you lack a guard in your party?" he finally snapped. "Did I not express that you were prohibited to leave the estate unprotected?"

Imraddon began to speak, but Yanwen stopped him, struggling to keep up with their long strides.

"It was me, master. Imraddon didn't—"

She blanched as Danarius whirled to face her.

"Thanron protested, but I insisted that we—"

Yanwen was on the floor, her head pounding and Danarius approaching, an angry blur that crouched beside her, "If I return with the boy, you will be punished. If I do not return with the boy, you will be dead." She felt him pat her head.

Imraddon could do nothing but follow his master.

Alone in the hallway, Yanwen pushed herself upright. The walls wouldn't steady. She pressed a hand to her throbbing head, and felt a wet heat. Shakily sighed upon finding the blood. She lowered herself back down. Closed her eyes.

"Fuck."

vVv

"Oh, fuck _me_."

Thanron's tripped over his own feet and crashed to the blood encrusted dirt. Just in time, too, because an axe had swung over his head. He threw out a leg and hooked his attacker's ankle, jerking it forward. The brute waved his arms as he fell back. Another man took advantage, lopping off a flailing arm with his sword.

"Shit!"

The man gazed down as the brute writhed helplessly beneath him. Blood spurted in long strings, splintered bone and fat escaping where an arm used to be. He kicked out his legs, and Thanron cried out when one struck him. Then, the man took notice of him. His head rolled to stare at him with blood flecked eyes.

Thanron scrambled to his feet, felt the wall behind him. Kicking up dirt, he sprinted past the man— only to be caught by the collar and thrown back. Thanron's head struck the wall and he tasted blood. The clouds danced above.

"Sorry, kid."

The man brought his sword down, and Thanron raised a hand.

Like a match, it sparked inside him. Just like that.

It felt so good.

vVv


	87. Another elf to burn

vVv

He had been handed half a sword.

Piled inside a torchlit dungeon that smelled of fear— they had waited for what Thanron had decided was a year. No one had spoke and why would they have? Speak to the elf who would snuff you out. Cut you down. They had stood in silence. Lots had pissed themselves and moved their lips in silent prayer.

Thanron had only stared at his sword.

They'd all had weapons. They could have saved themselves the embarrassment of being jeered at— started the killing in the privacy of their little dungeon. Maybe clinged to their last shred of dignity and taken their lives.

To think Thanron had taken a happy shit that morning. To think he had decided that day was the day he'd finally put his brushes to work.

A laugh had almost slipped out, because…

He had held half a fucking sword. He had known he was going to die.

When the doors had opened, they had been rushed out.

People had begun to panic upon seeing blood. The had poured out into the arena like a broken wound, more and more frenzied as they stepped. Some had broken out into a run, dropping their shabby metal and searching madly for a way out.

They had pointed swords to each other, drew them back in apology, had pointed them again.

The fighting had begun in a funny way. Such a common scenario— Thanron had seen it several times just before the stupid shopkeep signed his death ticket.

One bloke had run into another bloke on his way to try and escape. Even under their circumstances, the men had grunted and glared at each other. As though they would have shouted to watch where the other was going, and then be on their way.

But this hadn't been two gits colliding at market. These men had been holding two shitty weapons in an arena where only one of them could leave. So, instead of an exchange of curses, they had come to the silent agreement that they would try and kill the other.

Upon the first meeting of metal, killing had erupted all around Thanron.

That's how it started.

Luckily, Thanron had been ignored for a good while. Maybe because he was too small to be a threat. Maybe because they thought he was a kid. Most likely, they just hadn't seen him.

Then, he had made the mistake of meeting someone's eyes.

A woman's, round and yellow. He had winced at their beauty and taken a step back.

vVv

Her head was pounding unforgivingly when she finally rose on wobbling legs. So much so that she distantly wondered if the master had cast a spell on her. Yanwen was glad for the pain— but her body forced the pursuit of water. She took clumsy steps along the corridor and leaned against the wall for support.

The kitchen was empty. Imraddon's half prepared meal was strewn accusingly about the room. Something bubbled in a pot over the fire.

Yanwen collected water into a cup and selfishly drank.

A flame reflected in a knife's metal, catching her eye.

She stared at the knife, lowered her cup. Watched the fire move inside it. Shook her aching head. Drained her cup. Then, left the kitchen.

vVv

Danarius had collected two unlucky guards when he stepped into the barracks with a calm fury.

"You," he had looked to Beron. "You," he had turned to Markus.

And then, he had left, with the two guardsmen exchanging a wary glance behind him.

"What do you suppose they did?"

"I can't imagine Beron did anything to upset."

"Yeah— maybe Markus, but not Beron."

Krayg had left to follow them.

Stepping beside Danarius, he had requested his cause for collecting the two nervous men.

"I'm in a hurry."

Krayg insisted. As captain of the guard, it was his duty—

"_I'm _captain of this bloody useless guard, you idiot."

Reaching a hand to stop his strides, Krayg looked him hard in the eye and demanded to know what was going on.

The magister's eyes went blank for a moment, and Krayg could feel him shaking beneath his hand. He let go, squared himself.

Danarius said, "Did you forget what day it was when you let two of my elves leave, unprotected?"

Krayg stared. Kept his face even.

"They were taken?"

"The boy was, so I need these men." Danarius left him with the name, "Thanron."

Thanron. The yappy peanut.

vVv

It'd been weird to be screamin' and runnin' from a pretty woman in front of a thousand humans. If he hadn't been terrified, Thanron maybe could have found the funny in it all. Like the audience surely had above him. Howlin' their amusement.

Watchin' Thanron plunge his broken sword into her neck. Watchin' his tongue catch the blood in his scream. Watchin' him drop to his knees, sword and woman falling beside him. Watchin' him approached by a new attacker. The big brute to be cut down by Thanron's savior.

The man that Thanron would burn to nothing.

vVv

She screamed at him to leave her. He sidestepped a flying book.

"This is your fault!"

Krayg said nothing, only stared at her.

She hated him more than herself. It felt better to hate him.

"You ignored me— you sipped your tea and ignored me. It's your _duty _to protect us filthy elves, like it or not."

The human dodged more literature.

"I hate you! If he's dead, I'm going to kill you before they kill me."

Krayg had paused as she launched another book. Its corner struck him just above his brow, and a small ribbon of red formed along the skin to fall over his eye.

Yanwen's anger ebbed upon the sight. She was suddenly very tired, her head one big throb of pain.

"If you wanted me dead," she murmured, "you should have just let your friend do the work. Now, Thanron is…" Yanwen was dizzy.

Krayg stared. The hateful scholarly stare.

"He's going to kill you?"

"I don't care," she said.

"Danarius said that?"

"Just go."

Three Kraygs left the swaying room.

Yanwen pressed a hand to the chair's edge and breathed. Blood fell to drip against her hand. A drip, then a small spurt, then another drip. She held a hand to her head, felt the blood leave it.

If Danarius didn't kill her for losing Thanron, he's would kill her for bleeding all over the damn place.

vVv

The crowd watched in awed silence as the first flames unfolded, rolling forward in a great wave to consume stunned elves. Attackers melted into the attacked, their flesh mingling in dark bubbles. Pain ripped from their mouths, rising to meet the roar of the flames. Thanron sighed. The release was something he never felt. It was sent from the Maker. It was the Maker.

The crowd began to scream with glee. They stood and begged him for more. He gave it to the sodden lot. He killed his brothers and sisters with pleasure.

When his fire's fuel thinned, they brought in more. Forced to step upon the hot dirt with a shove of a club, of a shield. One look at the hell Thanron bestowed, their nose filled with crispy flesh, and they blindly fought. Some were skewered, others were bludgeoned, many trampled; the lucky ones.

There was no time. A minute could have passed. An hour, just as easily. Burning was his clock. A second was each fallen corpse. The donning of an hour, their screams.

Thanron dropped to his knees only once. Wide eyed and feeling the dirt. Recalling— for a moment, who he was. Who he had been two hours ago. He moaned a dry sob, rang his hands, begged the Maker. A flash of silver roused the fire, forced it from his hand and across a familiar face. A passing smile he had mirrored that day in market. Charred to black.

vVv

"Don't let me kill anyone."

His master was pale, leg bouncing and eyes darting from his hands to the carriage window in an endless dance.

"Not during my campaign."

Fenris did not know if the words had been meant for him, Emma, or Na Vanum.

There were purple bruises beneath the magister's eyes. As though he had not been dormant the entire length of Na Vanum's stay.

Danarius clasped his hands together, bent forward with elbows on his knees. Emma stirred from her stupor and touched his arm.

He lifted those bruised eyes to Emma, the pleading gaze of a frightened boy.

"I promised I would keep him safe."

Beside Fenris, Imraddon tensed further. Released a small noise from the back of his throat. His nails buried themselves into his arm.

"He isn't dead," Imraddon finally said. Softly, but firmly. "He's not."

"No," Emma agreed with wide eyes, "he isn't."

She allowed Danarius to take her hand. Allowed him to hold it tight.

"He's my son," he told her, barely above a whisper. "I promised his mother that I would protect him."

Emma stared at their hands, raised eyes to Fenris. Her lips were parted.

The elf nodded once.

She sucked in a breath.

Imraddon closed his eyes and prayed.

vVv

Terrified elves clawed at the arena's stone walls, mindlessly trying to climb up. Brave elves raised their weapons and charged, reduced to ashes with a single swipe of his hand. One elf dropped his weapon and stepped to be kissed by Thanron's fire. One moment the sad eyes met his— and then they were gone.

Well, first they melted and everything.

Poor sod.

Thanron wondered —while sending a pyre to a group of elves who had valiantly banded to fight him— why so many people weren't able to grasp that they were killin' themselves by comin' anywhere near him.

Then again, it was an arena full of Minrathous' biggest fools.

vVv

They all took a moment to behold. But no more than a moment for Imraddon, who turned to Danarius and said that he would be the one to claim him.

"You clear him and don't kill anyone. Fenris will stay with Emma."

Danarius agreed to his plan.

The moment they were alone, Emma took the elf's hand.

She whispered their friend's name. If Fenris wasn't an elf, he wouldn't have heard her.

"Imraddon will save him."

"But that's," she stared as the scene unfolded its hell. "No, that's…"

They watched the elf burn everything before him— kicked up his legs to spin into a live jet of fire. He had become the flame. His clothes were burned to singed tatters, falling from him as his flesh should have. He killed the people that ran away screaming.

"That isn't Thanron."

vVv

There was no time to search the colosseum for its killing grounds.

Imraddon punched a guard in the stomach and held his breath, waited anxiously for him to catch his breath. The guard sputtered curses and grabbed Imraddon by the arm, thrusting a dagger to his back.

"Guess you have a death wish," he grunted, shoving him on. "All you had to do was ask. Woulda been happy to provide the beast another elf to burn."

Many humans turned from the scene to spit at him, tossle his hair, kiss his cheek. It was agonizing to walk with the human. He wanted to plow through the spectators and sprint for him. All it took was one trained fighter. One arrow. One plunge. One second, and Thanron could be gone.

Imraddon was guided down into the dungeons, where several elves sprawled. The dead had been trampled, stabbed, beaten. The living drew ragged breaths between their teeth, hands to their ears. Praying to be overlooked.

The arena doors were opened to welcome Imraddon with a gust of heat and shrill screams. He stepped out into the hell Thanron had built.

The boy was in clear view. Beyond a sea of dead, he conducted the fire's roar with a flick of his wrist. Imraddon moved away from the melted flesh, charred bone— that reached to him around rattling moans.

No one attacked him. Those who did not cower attempted to slay Thanron. To their horror, he did not tire. He was ready with flame for all who challenged him. His face, blackened with smoke, was twisted into a feral grin. His eyes seemed not to see.

Imraddon had no plan. All he could think of was to reach him. He grabbed a battered shield from the stiff fingers of a corpse and held it before him. The crowed cheered for the dragon's mayhem, their arrogance obscuring danger. Thanron would just as soon send his fire into the stands, if not for the elves that fought him.

A wayward flame shot Imraddon's way, and he held out the shield to block what he could, lunging into the dirt. He felt heat, but not burning. Returning to his feet, he pinned himself to Thanron's blindside, the attackers providing a sacrificial distraction. Slowly, he dodged heat and neared him. Closer, closer. He needed to get close enough to be picked out among the strangers. He needed Thanron to hear his voice.

Unsurprisingly, another elf had thought to do the same, only she held a dagger before herself— pointed to Thanron's back.

Imraddon scrambled to grab her by the neck. The woman screamed and Thanron whirled around, flashing out a hand to ignite the stealthy elf. His hand burned, Imraddon cried out as he released her.

"Thanron!" he hissed. "Dammit!"

Thanron stopped.

He stared past Imraddon, arms still. Listening.

Imraddon took a step forward and dropped the shield.

"Thanron."

The elves saw their chance in Thanron's daze and descended.

Imraddon watched as he skipped out of a sword's dive, recovering his flame and molding it in his hands. He fired a blast that brushed its heat along Imraddon's skin. Imraddon cursed and grabbed a fallen blade. The sooner he killed them all, the sooner Thanron could stop.

He took a single breath and let himself go.

The elves didn't see him coming— they were too focused on dodging fire. It was done quickly, between the flames and his cutting. Soon, all were dead or dying.

"Thanron."

He dropped the sword. Held up his hands. Took a step forward.

"We have to get back—"

Thanron stared, fire spilling into his palms.

Imraddon stilled.

"—back to preparing the feast."

The fire grew in his hands.

Thanron tilted his head.

"I burned you."

Imraddon glanced at his hand. It was bad. Not terrible. But bad. Blotchy red and burning like a demon's kiss, but it would heal.

"You did. Inadvertently."

He was more concerned that Thanron's fire did not die. The elf tossed it back and forth between his hands, as though he held no more than a ball of twine.

"What do you plan to do with that?"

Thanron tore his gaze from Imraddon's hand. He blinked.

"I don't know," he said. "I can't think right now. My mind's just…"

The crowd above had begun to hiss their disapproval that the fighting should end. Wine rained down upon them, flecks of red falling to join the blood.

"Come, Thanron…"

He carefully reached for him, wary of the fire in his hands.

"Danarius is waiting. He cleared you out."

Thanron dropped eyes to the fire.

"He did…?"

"Thanron."

He only watched the flames.

Imraddon dared to take his hands. To feel their heat, and guide the elf's fingers into fists. Smoke seeped out the cracks.

"Please come."

Thanron looked at him then. There was a glint of clarity, buried in his eyes. He was coming to.

"Is this how you felt?"

Imraddon parted his lips—

"…when you had to do it? Is this how you felt?"

For a moment it was only them, the crowd's noise was drowned in their gaze. Imraddon held Thanron's hands tighter. They had begun to shake.

vVv

Emma was told not to embrace him. She was told to keep her hands to herself, to dry her eyes. To say nothing during the return home.

Fenris had taken Emma out after the first minute. He didn't wanted her to see a moment's more. The two waited by the carriage, praying. An eternity had passed before they all emerged. Safe. The elf gave her hand a celebratory squeeze before letting it go.

Fenris had told her not to hug Thanron. That he would still be dangerous. He explained that Thanron would be sorting through it all, watching the horrors unfold as they had. Searching for himself in the mess of his mind. He needed to be left alone for a time. But he would find his way back. Fenris told her that he was going to be okay.

Though Emma understood, it was unbearable to watch him gaze blankly out the window. Chuckled jests gone from his lips.

vVv

Yanwen woke in her own room.

She propped herself on elbows and squinted about. The room was lit with candles, night's soft hues pouring in. She blinked. Licked her lips. Coughed. It made her head hurt.

Remembering why it did, she brought a hand to her head and felt bandages.

Yanwen hurriedly left her bed and opened the door of her chambers. Krayg was standing there in surprise, his hand angled at the knob like he had meant to open it. His other arm was folded around a bowl of water. There was a blood-blotched bandage over his right brow.

She waited for him to speak.

He didn't.

When she had enough of the staredown, Yanwen moved to squeeze past him, but he leaned to block her way. She tried the other side, and he did the same.

She was too tired to glare.

"I have to go find out what's happened."

"He's fine. He's here."

Yanwen flinched.

"He's— he is?"

Krayg stared.

"Get in bed. Not getting that she-elf again—"

Yanwen brought fingers to her mouth.

"He's fine," she whispered.

Before the tears could fall, she turned around.

His Arcanum was curt, but quiet.

"That she-elf's busy with those other two. Had me bring you water. You got other cuts. Clean em'." She heard him step inside. Heard the bowl meet her table. Yanwen had expected him to leave right away, but the floorboards remained silent.

"Stay in here 'til I say otherwise."

She turned to him.

"You're no good for a beating yet. Stay put."

He left.

Yanwen stared at the door for a long time before returning to bed. She pulled the blankets over her head and allowed herself a good, long cry.

vVv


	88. All sorts of stuff

vVv

Emma watched Danarius eat. From his habit of studying a long scroll, then to referencing a leather bound journal, the inking of his quill, reaching for Emma, murmuring to Larus, writing again, a quick glance at this, and thorough read of that — and finally he would bite the spoonful he had readied minutes before. His eating involved less eating and more reading, scribbling, and frowning at parchment.

Obviously tired. And pale. The stubble on his chin neglected.

About to bite a heapful of eggs, he laid the fork down and rubbed his temples. Emma had endured enough.

"Eat, Danarius!"

He blinked up at her, startled by her outburst.

"You've barely touched your food for fifteen minutes," she said. "Eat."

The magister picked up his quill, forgetting himself. He chuckled at his own disorientation and grabbed his spoon.

Emma had observed this with concern.

"Perhaps," she looked to Larus, "you should take a look at him. He might be ill with something again."

The healer began to nod when Danarius held up his hand.

"I'm fine."

"Are you?" his friend leaned forward to study his eyes. "You do look a bit—"

Danarius shook his head, "Fine, I'm fine, I'm telling you both that I am fine." He bit a biscuit in demonstration, chewing pointedly and scooping a cluster of eggs.

"I'd rather be certain for myself," said Emma. "Just a quick—"

"Emma, I am perfectly well. Take my word."

"It will only be a couple minutes. What's the harm in a quick look—?"

"Quite busy, darling," he tapped the roll of parchment against her head, "I should be working this very moment but instead I will place my undivided attention upon this meal. Be satisfied with that."

"Danarius—"

"Emma."

He smiled softly.

"Let me assure you— there's no need. I'm fine."

Emma must have made a face, for he sighed and added,

"But if you like, I can have Larus take a look once the day is out and my affairs are seen to." He turned to the healer, "If that is agreeable with you, of course. I'll compensate you for the late hour—"

He waved Danarius off, "Don't be absurd."

Emma nodded her satisfaction.

"I'm sorry for being so insistent," she said.

Danarius chuckled.

"Quite alright, it shows that you love me."

She stared, the words stinging like a slap to the face, and wished she'd just left him to his work. When she looked at Fenris, he was tracing his markings and staring out the window. He watched a woman lean out the home opposite to beat a rug.

Larus was asking a quiet Arathea if she felt alright.

"Oh, is it my turn?" she smiled, touching his nose. "I'm right as rain."

For some reason, Danarius snorted.

vVv

Thanron sat before the dish basin, scrubbing away at pots with copper coil. The slime was good'n'caked from bein' left so long yesterday, so it turned out to be a real job. His arms had begun to ache something awful— until he reached a scrubber's high. Then, his arms just did as Thanron told him in tirelessly workin' at the black grit. But this one pot had been givin' him extra trouble, even after soakin' overnight. The one that carried rice. It'd burned at the bottom, and the shit did _not _wanna come off—

Eyes rolling back into her head as she screamed, jaws stretching wider than he'd ever seen as the flesh of her face bubbled and popped —blackening— till it dripped right from the bone…

Thanron took a breath, but he smelled her burning and gagged.

Closed his eyes.

Tried another breath. That one was better.

He stared at the soapy water for a good long time. Thought about soap. And dishes. And how stubborn they could be even after soaking overnight. Another breath. They were the new, damn pots and pans, already stained and scratched from all his scrubbing. His arms felt like noodles at his sides. He'd been workin' hard as hell—

Crawling away and moaning, legs burned to nothing he could walk on—

Thanron shook his head. Clenched his teeth. Closed his eyes and tilted his head.

He stood. Looked to Imraddon.

The oaf, caught staring, flinched back to sweeping the floor.

"Oi."

Imraddon was obvious in his attempt to remain nonchalant as he said, "Yes?"

"We got any lye? This pot's a whore."

He nodded, resting his broom against the wall.

"I'll get it. Just tell me where."

"I can show you," Imraddon nodded.

Thanron cracked a smile.

"Just tell me where it is, Imra."

He hesitated, glancing at the door. Then at Thanron, whose smile fell as he took a step forward, shoving hands in his trouser pockets.

"You're gonna hafta let me on my own eventually."

"Yes, well—" Imraddon shook his head, "not yet."

Thanron sighed. Shrugged.

"Fine, then. Lead the way."

Seeming relieved, Imraddon showed him to the supply shed outback.

Thanron glanced about its shelves.

"Can see why you didn't want me in here alone. Lots of sharp stuff."

Imraddon lowered himself to pull out a box from the bottom shelf. Rummaging, he said, "Wear gloves when you get it wet," and dropped the lye into Thanron's hand.

"You gonna follow me into the bathroom?"

"I suppose not, no."

"How long are you gonna treat me like a grenade?"

"Here," Imraddon handed him a pair of black, rubber gloves. "It burns after a while if you don't wear these. I am not—" he sighed, "treating you like a grenade." Imraddon thought a moment, then returned the box to its place. "I am treating you like someone who has gone through a traumatic experience."

"You didn't do this before, with the road's troubles."

"I did," Imraddon rose from his knees. "I did, on a smaller scale." He made to leave the shed before turning back around, "Thanron, I— wouldn't be hovering so much if I hadn't thought about…" he shook his head and held the door for Thanron to walk though.

"Thought about killin'? You liked it, huh?"

Imraddon stared at the door frame.

"I hate it. That is not what I mean."

Thanron raised his chin.

"Well, I like it."

"If that was the case," said Imraddon, "you would not gag while washing a pot."

They stood in silence. Thanron shuddered.

"Yeah, I hate it, too."

"I know. Come. I will wash the whore pot. You can sweep."

Soon as Thanron set to sweepin', he noticed Imraddon watchin' him carefully again. He grit his teeth. Turned around and swept harder.

"Sorry," came Imraddon's voice.

Thanron grunted, "S'alright," but he kept his back to him.

"Do you want me to leave?"

He turned at that. His heart tripped up.

A storm had set to brewin' in the oaf's eyes. The kind Thanron liked to look at, time to time.

"Nuh-uh," he said, gripping the broom tight. "You know I don't. Just want you to think I'm alright to be left alone." Thanron dropped his head and kicked a piece of bread. "Just want you to treat me like… to stop looking at me like you're fixin' to cry."

Imraddon didn't know what to say at first. Then, he took a deep breath. Leaned over from where he sat, elbows on knees. His hands hid his face, 'cept his mouth.

Thanron set aside the broom and stepped near him.

"I just need forty-five seconds," said Imraddon. "And then I will be…" he let loose a shaky sigh. "I promise to…"

"Do these seconds count?"

"No."

Thanron smirked. Then, he knelt down in front of him. Watched the tears run down his arms. Drip off his chin. He cried nice and quiet. No shakin' or moaning or any of that obnoxious shite. Just slow breaths. Thanron watched each one sucked between his teeth.

Probably just as the seconds had about run out, Thanron leaned to kiss him. Softly. Imraddon flinched at first, but then he was still.

Not the kind of kiss you got hot and bothered over. No, the kind that you gave when the person you cared about was in pain over your pain. The kind of kiss shared between two people who were locked on the inside. Three seconds of good. Till Imraddon dropped his hands.

He stared at him with red eyes.

Thanron smiled sheepishly.

"That wasn't so bad sober."

Imraddon snorted and turned to scrub at the whore pot.

"Coulda been better," shrugged Thanron. "You kiss like a dead fish."

"You have kissed a dead fish, then?"

"You're s'posed to move your mouth. Least a little."

"I do— usually. You caught me at a bad time."

"Thought it was a good time. You were cryin' and all. Made you feel better, didn't it?"

"Well— yes."

"That's what I thought."

After a while, after Thanron finished sweepin' and wipin' down the countertops, Imraddon grumbled from his stool. He was still scrubbing at the same pot.

"Next time you drop by the arena, let me know first. So I can take the damn rice off the stove."

Thanron laughed. Just a chuckle at first, 'till a bigger laugh snuck up on him and gripped him by the stomach.

Imraddon glared, "It is not funny. This is ridiculous. This is a brand new pot. Thanron, it's not— mm," he scrubbed so hard, the pot slipped out of his hands.

Thanron wiped the good kind of tears from his eyes.

vVv

Yanwen had been summoned by Danarius. Elen told her so with calm eyes that made it seems less terrifying than it was. She dressed quickly and hurried to the master's study, where he waited along the window sill. He scribbled upon parchment that lay across his knee, and didn't raise his head to address her.

Ten minutes must have passed.

She jerked when he finally spoke, it'd been quiet so long.

"So, you say— Yanwen?"

"Yes, master."

"Yanwen…" he frowned, shuffling his papers and glancing out the window to check the clock tower's hour. "You and Thanron went shopping. Who sent you?"

Yanwen breathed in before answering, and was granted an even voice.

"Myself, master. I wanted to go. I asked Thanron to tag along and we went to—"

She paused as Danarius held up his hand.

"When I want details, I shall request them."

"Alright, master."

Somehow, his lopsided smile was more intimidating than any glare could have had the hope of being. Even still, Yanwen kept herself calm.

"What is your age, Yanwen?"

"I don't know, master."

Danarius sighed, "Most slaves don't. It bludgeons my curiosity." He gestured to the table behind her, "Coffee? Tea? Biscuits and jam?"

She shook her head.

"No?" he chuckled. "Are you trying to be polite?"

"Yes, master— I mean, I'm trying to be polite, and I also don't want anything."

Danarius nodded.

"I, too, cannot eat when I'm nervous. I feel I'm terribly conspicuous at political dinner parties. Just sitting there."

The door opened behind her, and whoever walked in remained where they were after shutting it behind them.

"Right on time, Fenris." Danarius gestured for Yanwen to sit and folded his arms. She did so, quietly and deliberately. Swallowed her nerves. No sense in trembling over what would inevitably come. Might as well hold on to your dignity. She was fine. It was only— the room was cold, its hearth empty. And she caught a chill that set her teeth to knocking until she clenched them together.

"The shop from which Thanron was taken. What was its name?"

Yanwen shook her head, eyes stuck on the tea's heat.

"I don't know, master."

"What does it sell, then?"

"All sorts of stuff."

"'All sorts of stuff," Danarius's smile stiffened. "There are many shops in the market district that sell 'all sorts of stuff'. Could you be more specific—"

"I don't know, master." she ran hands up and down her arms, chattering away. "Food and household stuff. Same every shop stores. If you're lookin' for the shopkeep that got Thanron captured, his name's Bems."

Danarius blinked in surprise.

"You know his name?"

"A guard called him by it."

He raised brows.

"You are certain?"

"Mm."

Danarius nodded to Fenris, who left immediately. Then, he turned back to Yanwen.

A gust of warmth radiated behind her. She gave a yelp and whirled around in her chair. The hearth was lit, flames fat and tall. Yanwen let out a breath.

"I noticed you were cold."

"Thanks, master."

"Take off your clothes."

She paused, hoping she'd heard him wrong. But he waited expectantly. Yanwen stood, biting her tongue, and disrobed.

"Hm," he studied her body. "It seems you've caused a stir among my guards. I was merely curious as to why," he said. "You may dress."

She quickly bent to pick up her robes and pull them on.

"Kraygavum has come to your aide. He says no guard, including himself, would agree to join you. That you did request them to." Danarius stepped to sit at his desk. "And Thanron insisted that he needlessly upset the shopkeep over a broom set. Each claims you are not solely responsible. It wouldn't be fair to punish you without punishing every guard, as well as Thanron. Which I'm not doing, obviously.

"That said," he inked his quill and began to write upon parchment, "you may go with a warning." Danarius looked up, "Do not leave without a guard ever again. If they refuse to join you, seek either Fenris or myself. You are my property and if I wish to put you in harm's way, it is my choice to do so. Do not venture to die without my consent." He narrowed his eyes. "Understood?"

Yanwen nodded, "Yes, master."

"Good. You may leave now. And I would advise that you thank Kraygavum for having the ability to do so."

She left, heart tripping as she did.

vVv

Emma noticed he had passed as she was picking weeds. Hurrying to stand, she brushed the dirt from knees. Fenris was headed for the gate. "Fenris!" she called. He stopped just outside the entrance and turned around to meet her.

"Yes?"

She smiled and felt like laughing for no reason. Fenris seemed to feel the same, a crooked grin having stretched his mouth.

"Where are you off to—?

"You have dirt, just… all over your face," he said. "Were you picking flowers with your teeth?"

Emma blushed, "I don't know—" she wiped her cheeks with her sleeves, "How did I…?"

"Your nose, too. And your mouth."

"My mouth?" she whined.

After she had rubbed her face raw, she turned it left to right for him to see, "Gone?"

"I lied. Now, your face is red."

"Oh, well, thanks for that. Where did you say you were going?"

"I did not say. I am going to kill someone."

Emma smiled in confusion, "I see. Pray tell, what have they done to deserve an assassination?"

"They sold a broom to our friend for an unfair price."

She sobered, eyes widening.

"Oh. The shopkeep? You're going to kill the shopkeep?"

"Yes."

Emma turned to look over each shoulder, dropping her voice.

"Is that right, do you think?"

He seemed puzzled by that.

"Yes. He nearly had Thanron killed."

"Well, yes, but, he didn't take a direct part in—"

Fenris laughed in disbelief.

"Didn't he?"

"I've been haggled by shopkeeps. If I'm not interested in the price they offer, I don't purchase the item."

The elf was no longer amused.

"The man cheated Thanron. He took advantage of his class and tried to steal from him."

"Do you believe in the execution of a thief?"

He didn't reply, so Emma continued.

"Is killing the human who tried to cheat an elf out of coin any different than killing the elf who stole coin from the human?"

He rolled his eyes, back stepping out of the gate.

"Yes, Emma. Insurmountably different. An elf in Minrathous is pushed to steal in order to survive."

Emma shook her head, sighing, "I just don't think either side should be punished with death. Thanron's alive, isn't he? Maybe you could just scare him."

"Fine," the elf said. "I am on my way to deliver the shopkeep a spanking. I will see you later." He turned and stolled off, a stretch more of a bounce to his step than was Fenris-like. Too eager, if one asked Emma. She shook her head again, calling to his retreating back.

"Don't torture him, Fenris. Be quick about it," she cupped hands around her mouth and called louder, "Do you hear me? Fenris?"

He raised a hand in acknowledgment.

Emma sucked her teeth, turning to the gate's guardsman at her side.

"He's going to torture the man."

The guard was staring at her with wide eyes.

vVv

She had planned to search for him later, but there he was, blocking the way to the slave's quarters.

"Hey," she said. "Thank you for—"

Krayg nodded and left a still talking Yanwen, whose voice lowered to an annoyed mumble.

"…sticking your neck out for me."

vVv

The previous evening's feast had been postponed to that evening, given a domestic upset. At least, that is what Danarius's cryptic letter of apology had expressed. Demetri had read it with a twitching brow, only able to guess as to what a "domestic upset" entailed. It had better have had nothing to do with Emma. Although Crain had snatched the letter from his hands to promptly conclude that his worst fears were true with a charming, "Looks like I'm out of a job."

He readied himself for the night with pursed lips and a thumping heart, so worried that his wild hair didn't cause him his usual vexation. Demetri even let Crain where a shorter dress than he would have normally allowed.

All through the ride, Demetri rested an elbow upon the window sill, his hand covering his eyes. Sighing, he said,

"It would make the most sense to introduce you as my lover."

"You should be so lucky," Crain snorted.

"Mm."

He felt another headache coming on.

"Lighten up, boss! You're weighin' me down. What do I gotta do to get you less heavy? Give you a massage? Jerk you off?"

"Try and I will maim you."

"Good, I'll have the hook for a hand I've always wanted. You do know we're goin' to a dinner party_— _not a funeral —right?"

"We could be going to both," he said, "for all that bloody letter implied."

She rolled her eyes.

"I'm switchin' your water for booze, that's for damn sure."

"Try and I will maim you."

"Make my day, drivelswigger! Can we have fun? Please?"

"You do not have fun at the dinner party of your enemy!"

Leaning much too close, she dropped her voice to a murmur.

"What's more suspicious, eh? Two guests having fun at a party, drinkin' and conversatin'? Or two guests, quiet, sober and grim? Huh? Who d'you think is less likely to steal your wife and sail off? Eh? Who do you want at _your_ dinner party—"

Demetri tilted away with a grimace.

"Why didn't you brush your teeth before leaving for a bloody party?"

She frowned, sitting back and testing her breath.

"Not great," she said. "S'why I always keep mint on deck." To Demetri's astonishment, she removed a peppermint plant from her bosom and ripped off a few leaves with her teeth. Crain then held it out to him, the leaves brushing his nose.

"No, I—" he shoved her hand away, "No."

"Please y'self."

His massaged his throbbing temples.

"Mint helps headaches, you know."

Demetri glared, "So does silence."

She mashed her lips together.

After a stretch, he sighed.

"Give it here, then."

vVv


	89. Blatantly flirtatious

vVv

The elf returned with blood flecked to his steel plate. Emma had been sat with Elen and Yanwen when he popped in the study to request the magister's wearabouts. They had all simply shaken their heads in reply, until Emma noticed the blood. She quickly rose to her feet and rushed to interrogate him. Was it quick? Did he cry? Scream? Try to run away? Cause a scene? Did Fenris torture him even though he promised not to? "I made no promise," Fenris corrected Emma as she followed him upstairs.

"Ugh," Emma cringed. "Was he terribly afraid?"

"Why are you so curious?"

"I'm just curious."

He passed her a wry glance as they reached his chambers.

"You find it interesting, then."

Emma gave a vacant look, then furrowed her brow. When she didn't speak, he opened the door and welcomed her inside. She closed the door behind herself.

"When those boys had taken you," Fenris began as he removed the steel plate, "you were quite upset when I—"

"Butchered them. Yes, I was. I still am." Emma chewed on a thought, stepping to sit upon his bed. Fenris stripped his armor down to his tunic and greaves, about to remove them when she said, "You know, I—" Emma frowned. "I've seen a lot of people die in the last few weeks."

Emma lifted eyes to find his somber gaze.

"I am sorry for that," he said.

She shook her head, glancing about his simple room. Just the bare essentials, permeated in mint.

"Do you like it in here? To have your own chambers?"

Fenris's immediate answer was blunt:

"I would rather sleep in your chambers."

She dropped eyes to her dress and brushed out a crease.

"Then, perhaps a night that Danarius is out," Emma shrugged, "If you like."

"Oh, well, I didn't mean…"

Emma looked to find that the elf was embarrassed, his ear tips red.

"I realize how that might have sounded," he said. "I meant I would rather keep my eye on Danarius when he is with you."

Emma's face must have been hot to the touch.

"But," he risked eyes upon hers in a quick glance, "If you would like, I can do so, should he ever leave for the—"

"I only meant, because we've become accustomed to sleeping in the same quarters," Emma shook her head, raising a palm to gesture, "I thought you liked it." She shook her head again. "I meant, I thought we—"

"I do like it," he said, "I did. And I would." He gave a nervous laugh. "I apologize for the confusion— I thought we were talking about something else. Yes, thank you, that would be good. To sleep in your chambers. If Danarius ever— " The elf let out a great breath, raising brows as he said something in Arcanum. "That," he tilted his head. "Maker."

Emma's lips twitched into a smile. Then, she began to laugh. Fenris startlingly stared at her until, he too, realized how ridiculous their exchange had been. They were struggling to breathe by the minute's end. Fenris even had to sit, lest his knees buckled.

vVv

Arathea was tentative around him. Her eyes flitted to his, less like a glance and more like swift assurance. To make certain that he remained the blue eyed man that wouldn't lift a finger in her direction. Or perhaps he was wrong. Perhaps they were glances, and she hoped that the demon would appear. Sly, little thing. And Larus, poor Larus, remained ever oblivious to the swift glances, working diligently at his own affairs.

The girl was distracting. Not thirty minutes passed before Danarius sighed, left his unfinished work, and moved to set out on his next engagement. An appointment with a man named Tabiu, who sought to become his scribe. His works needed multiplying for distribution, as his last scribe had himself eaten by a bear. The selfish bastard.

He passed his brother's chambers before turning back to rap at the door.

No answer, so Danarius took the liberty of opening the door.

Empty apart from its furnishings and a woman's shoe.

Danarius continued off, grabbed his coat, and stepped out into Minrathous. His strides were slow, damnably slow. He was sluggish and he hadn't the time to be. Curse him for not taking the carriage. An abrupt coldness met his foot, stopping him. He frowned at the unpleasant feeling of it around his toes.

An elven woman's face was twisted in horror, open bottle of milk in her arms.

"I'm— so—"

Danarius held up his hand, considered curling it to Pull the blood from her stammering mouth. Smiled, instead. Slugged on. Na Vanum was amused by his momentary deliberation.

"_You almost killed that woman."_

He shook his head. He wouldn't do something so recklessly violent.

"_You almost did, Danarius. And I hadn't even begged."_

Danarius glared as he walked.

"_Emma is right. You are not well. The dreams have made you this way."_

He shook his head again. Emma was wrong. The most he needed was some sleep. It was the lack of sleep that was causing him trouble.

"_I disagree. This is like before—" _

"I am fine!"

Alarmed faces turned to him, parting to avoid the magister as he passed.

"See what you've done?" he growled. "Emma is right about one thing; _you _are what is not well with me."

_"Maybe I should take over until you have calmed."_

Danarius gripped his head, not stopping his strides. The demon relented and slipped into silence. As he recollected himself and took a breath, he suddenly realized that the appointment with Tabiu was scheduled for the following day.

vVv

"So," Emma sighed. "Thanron."

Fenris nodded.

"Why didn't you tell me he was Danarius's son?"

"We are all sworn to secrecy," said Fenris. "The one time an elf nearly told Thanron, he was Pulled—"

"Thanron doesn't know?" she cried. "Truly?"

"He does not."

Emma held a hand to her chest.

"How horrible! Slave to your own father."

Fenris frowned, narrowing his eyes in thought.

"Thanron is not a slave," he decided. "He may think he is, but he is not." The elf stretched his legs along the floor, still adorned in their armor. "That stubborn personality was not born from oppression. Danarius lets him do as he likes."

"How so?"

"For example, one morning, when Thanron was little, Danarius's mare gave birth to a foal. Thanron had been found cooing at it, so Danarius bought chickens, pigs, goats, cows, and named him the official barn keeper."

"Oh."

Emma felt an involuntary touch of pride for the magister's kindness, attempting to hide it with a turn of her head.

"He should still give Thanron the option to leave," she said.

"Free elves do not last long in Tevinter. And Minrathous could be considered our slaughterhouse. That is why Danarius did not put him on the list."

The words hung heavily between them until Emma said,

"I was wrong to force him along."

Fenris gave her foot a nudge with his own.

"He is at his most content when he is with us."

She nodded, then shrugged.

"Do not." Fenris leaned back to rest his head against the wall, "Do not punish yourself. If you had not brought him, Thanron would be moping all over the estate, driving Tarma and the others to insanity. He is happy here."

When Emma made a face, Fenris interrupted her doubts.

"Yesterday was not your fault. The idiot to blame is currently sinking to the bottom of Nocen Sea."

"Well," she said.

"Mm."

He closed his eyes and Emma thought he fancied a nap. But then he pushed from the wall, grunting as he stood to stretch.

"Need to wash before Danarius and his guests arrive."

Emma frowned, made to give her arm a sniff when Fenris chuckled.

"I was referring to myself."

"Oh," she said with a knowing nod. "From the assassinating."

"From the assassinating," he smiled, pulling his tunic overhead. Emma glanced away as tanned muscle— speckled with blood and glistening with sweat —came into view. He had readied a wash basin with water, and was soaking a rag in its warmth.

"Should you be preparing, yourself?"

"Yes, pass me the rag, will you?"

"Allow me."

Emma jolted as he made a mock lunge for her.

"Ha, ha," she said to his chuckling amusement. "I don't know what prompted this new habit, but your teasing has—"

The elf's door made three quick knocks. Fenris seemed to immediately realize how one might find their arrangement alarming— Fenris half-naked and wet, Emma on his bed. In two blinks, his tunic was back on, and Emma was unceremoniously yanked from the bed and plopped into a chair. Her lips were still formed in an "o" when he opened the door.

Hadriana's sneer greeted them from the doorway.

"Am I interrupting something?"

Emma could not see the elf's face from where she sat, but his hand was tense around the door, his ears a bit lower, and his voice much stiffer.

"Yes," he said. "I was about to ready for the dinner party."

"With the lady of the house present?"

"She was just leaving," Emma said, rising from the chair.

The witch smiled at her, "Good," then turned to Fenris. "I was about to ready, myself." She placed a hand to his chest, tugging at the top of his tunic. "Perhaps we can ready together."

His grip tightened around the door.

"Lets," said Fenris.

Oh.

Emma stepped between them.

"I require him in my chambers," she said quickly. "I need help— tying my corset. I need help."

The witch stared.

"Is that so?

"Yes."

"Elf!" Hadriana called down the hall.

Elen's face appeared from around a corner.

"Your mistress requires assistance."

As Elen made her way to them, Hadriana gave Fenris a light push back into his chambers, whose expression remained stony. She turned to give Emma a smirk that disappeared behind the door's thud. Emma stared at it, heard the witch's muffled voice beyond, and clenched her fists in fury. She considered beating against the door, demanding that she stopped whatever she planned on doing.

The moment she decided and raised her fist, Elen's calm voice was beside her.

"I wouldn't," she said.

Something fell over inside the elf's chambers, followed by Hadriana's snicker.

Emma whispered, "But, she's—"

Taking her hand, Elen gently moved Emma away from the door.

"It will be ten times worse for him if you interfere," she wrapped an arm around her waist and guided her down the hall. "Ten times, really. Do you want that?"

"I," Emma's eyes welled with tears, "I don't…"

"You needn't be sad. The wolf does not want to be with that woman. Nor she, with him."

They reached Emma's chambers, and Elen pulled her inside. Without a word, the elf set to cleaning her up while Emma wiped tears and chewed her lip. She was wincing as the brush caught snags in her hair when Elen said,

"Be sure to stop the tears before you see Fenris. They're cruel, you know."

Emma made to turn around, but the elf held her head in place, brushing away.

"He knows you are in pain, and punishes himself for it. Even while he is the one to withstand Hadriana. Your tears make it unbearable."

She glared at her hands.

"I can't help it," said Emma. "It hurts."

"If Fenris can stop tears when he sees your genuine affection toward Danarius, you can stop tears when you see him with a woman he clearly detests. Do you need reminding that he is a slave?"

Emma attempted to leave the chair, but Elen pinned her shoulders back with a sigh.

"I would never say such things to upset you. I am telling you because it will help."

Shaking her head, Emma repeated, "I can't help what I feel."

She could hear the smile in Elen's voice.

"You humans."

Emma frowned, reaching for the brush.

"I just needed help with my corset," Emma said. "I'm perfectly capable of brushing my hair."

Elen slapped her hand away.

"You're getting help with everything else, too. Now, tell me about Ferelden. What colors were the flowers outside your cottage?"

Emma sniffed, staring at the whites of her knuckles.

She unclenched her fists and slouched back with a sigh. Closing her eyes, she leaned out the window of her cottage in Ferelden. Then she told Elen of the flowers that reached across the glass pane. Rich ivy with purple blooms.

The elf asked for more of her home's sights, and Emma shared them, sinking more and more in her chair. More and more content with fingers in her hair. Her tears stopped flowing somewhere along the way.

The next time she saw Fenris, Emma would smile.

And she did.

Emma flashed a bright smile when he later met her in the parlor, decked in a clean, crisp tunic and looking like the Maker's image of beauty. And the smile wasn't forced at all, for she was filled with sincere, buttery warmth.

He seemed startled at first. Blinking once, and staring— but he quickly answered her smile with a lopsided smirk of his own.

"Hm," his eyes followed the locks that tumbled over her chest. "Your hair looks different."

"Elen held me down and brushed it against my will."

"It was time that someone did."

Emma snorted. "As I was saying before we were rudely interrupted, something needs to be done about this teasing of yours."

Chuckling, the elf reached for a wine glass and poured red into its depths.

"How shall it be dealt with?"

He held the glass to her, their fingers brushing as she accepted it.

"I will think it over."

Fenris watched the glass meet her lips.

vVv

He leaned to check the clock tower. Guests would be arriving at his estate in an hour. He had to get back and ready himself—

A young human man, dressed in silk, ran into Danarius.

"Get out of my way," he snapped at the magister.

Danarius blinked, caught the man's arm without thinking. The man sputtered his anger as Danarius stared into the crowd. Thought about the best way to do it. Then, he apologized to the young man, looking him in his small, squinting eyes. Danarius smoothed the man's robes and apologized again.

"I'm not feeling well," he told him.

The young man made a face, shoved Danarius, and hurried off.

He allowed the young man his last twenty steps— sincerely hoped that he enjoyed them.

Then, Danarius tilted his head and smiled as the man's blood shot from his body in long twisting geysers. He flailed an arm to his head in a drunken effort to stop the blood escaping it, but the loss became too great in a matter of seconds. He disappeared below the crowd as the Pull took him, more jets of blood shooting above pivoting heads.

Danarius turned as the street erupted in screams, and decided to take the long way home.

He felt much better.

vVv

Demetri rubbed his hands together, warmed them with a breath.

"How's the headache?"

"Better."

The vine smothered gate was opened for them, revealing the cottage in its humble grandeur.

"Cozy, innit?"

Demetri stared at it. A giant mirage of home and safety amid the unforgiving chaos of Minrathous. It sat, mocking with its happy, smoking chimney and dripping ivy. Windows that poured warmth and light. A lie. A trap to lure a home-sick bride.

They had to get her out of there.

"Shame we're taking her from it," Crain added. "If I were Emma, I'd be fine to stay, even if my hubby's a little wacky—"

Demetri held an arm across her chest, and she stopped with a sheepish smile.

"Remember our talk? Remember that you wouldn't?"

"Yeah," she said. "That's started already?"

"As soon as we passed through the gate."

Crain mimed sewing her lips shut.

When they reached the door, Fenris was the one to open it. Demetri stared at the strangeness. The elf, out of armor and away from master— opening the house to guests as if he owned it.

"No guards for the front door?"

The elf opened it wider and stepped aside.

"Danarius does not see a need for them when he has gatekeepers."

Demetri entered, bored eyes roaming the wooden audacity.

"An overzealous guard would lack the homely touch," he said.

Fenris was behind him, fingers hooking at the edge of his coat.

"You are the first to arrive," he said quietly, "and Danarius is out. If there is something you wish to discuss, now is the time." Fenris removed the coat and draped it over his arm.

Demetri nodded once.

"This way."

The two were led to the parlor, where Emma waited with a glass of wine and distant eyes.

As the elf remained silent in his position before the hearth, Demetri cleared his throat and roused the girl's thoughts.

"Emma!"

He winced, his voice had cracked, making what was supposed to be a simple address an exclamation.

She jerked in surprise, and some of the wine sloshed onto her dress. Hissing, Emma held another palm beneath the dripping cup, standing to walk toward the wine table.

Crain mimicked him, "_Emma! Emma!"_, sewn lips ripped apart by laughter.

Fenris was there, mopping up her hand, and taking the wine from her muttered protests. He was chuckling softly— privately— lips moving around words that seemed to amuse Emma. She tutted, staring down at her stained dress.

"I am so sorry," said Demetri. "I will— Crain," he glared at the snickering woman. "Go buy Emma a new dress."

"What?" Crain laughed.

Fenris said, "You should change before the guests arrive."

"No," said Emma. Twinkling eyes changing between Demetri and the elf, she added, "I'll not be changing."

"Hear, hear!" said Crain. "Wear it like a badge of honor."

The elf narrowed eyes, "Why?"

"Why not?" Emma grabbed a couple glasses and set to pouring the wine. "A little wine stain never killed anybody."

Crain snorted.

"You'd be surprised," she said. "Noble folk are easily wounded. Eh, Demetri?"

Emma nodded, "Then my audacity to remain unchanged will spur an hour's gossip. I will be doing my duty as lady of the house to entertain its guests," she said. She took a sip of her wine, and frowned at Demetri.

"Are you waiting for an invitation to sit down?"

He flushed, moving to sit as Crain laughed behind him.

"Where is Miri? I had hoped to see her."

"She wanted to stay at home with our Father tonight."

"I see. How is he?"

"Sick. Very sick."

Emma brought them full glasses, placing a hand along Demetri's as he took his. "I'm sorry, Demetri," she said.

He shrugged, dropping eyes to his cup.

"There is no need—"

Crain accepted her wine, tipping it toward Emma's dress with a fake gasp. Demetri rolled his eyes as Emma laughingly leaned away.

Emma set a third glass atop the hearth, eliciting a sigh from the elf.

"You know I can't."

"Here it is, if you decide to rebel."

Fenris dropped the stained napkin atop the wine table.

"Ever present with temptations," he said.

"Am I?"

"You are, indeed."

"Shall I remove it?"

"No," he said. "Leave it so that I can exchange wanting glances with it all night."

Her answering smile was coy.

Demetri stared at the exchange, brows pulling together.

"Do you behave this way before Danarius?"

Emma turned with vacant eyes, the elf wearing a similar look.

"What way is that?"

"Blatantly flirtatious."

She frowned, glancing up at Fenris.

"We were being flirtatious?"

"Blatantly, it seems."

"Well, we had better stop that, hadn't we?"

"The sooner, the better."

Demetri drank from his glass in a moment of weakness. It was gone before he could remember himself.

"Right," he said, wiping his mouth. "Youthree may think it's all fun and games, but this is a matter of life and death for the both of you. And if you continue this careless banter—" Demetri scratched at his mane, tilting his head as he asked, "Have you two—?" he shook his head. "No, that is irrelevant. Just stay away from each other. You endanger yourselves with every glance. If he caught wind, it could mean death for you both," He glared at Fenris. "I thought _you_, of all people, would understand that."

Crain tried to hand Demetri her wine, but he haughtily declined. Then, she took a deep drink herself and addressed the small party.

"The way I see it," she said, lazily rolling the glass, "you need to find some balance. Be friendly toward each other— Danarius would be suspicious if you weren't, given how much time you've spent together.

"And staging dislike is tricky. One can always catch that slipping with a smile or a laugh. Better to not hide your friendship— Danarius knows Emma likes his elves, right? Just tone it back a little. Never know when the wrong ear is around the corner."

Demetri stared at the rug in thought.

"Yes," he finally agreed. Grudgingly. "Be friendly," Demetri looked up at the elf, "but do not forget yourself."

Fenris shook his head, but not in denial— to rouse himself from a daze.

"I won't," answered the elf.

Emma pronounced the dull discussion to be behind them, and launched into a smattering of questions for Crain, who heartily answered between sips of wine. Demetri would interject with his own questions, if it pertained to the execution of their plot. With glances toward the windows, to the door, he would tell Emma about her escape's progression. All the pending transactions, backalley interviews, and forged ink. Crain shared details of her own tasks, which mostly involved gathering a crew that was willing to defy one of Tevinter's most powerful magisters, renowned blood mage that could wield the Pull, and potential Archon. So far, two people had applied for the job.

"'Captain of the most loyal crew in all of Thedas'," Demetri bitterly quoted. "'They'd gladly follow me into the darkest abyss for not a single coin'. Always dripping your fallacies, I should have known." He drank from his cup.

"I couldn't ask them to do this," she said. "Danarius can turn people inside out with a blink."

Emma shivered.

"Inside out? How does that….?"

"Well, not really 'inside out'. He just kind of makes them implode. Guts'n'organs flyin' all over the damn place."

"Oh," she nodded, swallowing, "That's much less horrifying."

"Does he ever try blood magic out on you?"

Emma stared.

"No, he hasn't attacked me—"

The pirate waved a dismissive hand.

"Not to hurt you, lass, to make you come."

Demetri spat into his cup.

"_Crain," _he coughed.

Curiosity winning out against the flush that crawled across her cheeks, Emma leaned forward and asked Crain what she meant. The pirate opened her mouth in reply, but Demetri covered it with a firm grip.

"Don't," he warned.

"Demetri, I want to hear her."

Crain yanked his hand down, "He uses blood magic to—" she gagged as Demetri shoved his fingers into her mouth.

"Demetri!"

Crain leapt from the chair— Demetri scrambling to grab a lock of hair, but she evaded him with a practiced flip of her head. He hurled himself from the chair to chase after her, and she giggled with delight.

"He uses blood magic to make your blood—"

Demetri nearly caught her by the arm, but she leaned away in the nick of time. Hurrying around a nearby table, they stood frozen— flinching in anticipation of the other's movement.

"'To make your blood' what?" laughed Emma.

"To make it—!" She jerked to the right as Demetri did, "To make your blood rush to your coin purse, and—"

"Stop this crudeness, you are disturbing her—"

"He makes it pulse and throb—"

Demetri lunged across the table and managed to grab her by the arm.

But then Crain's face went blank for a moment. Demetri watched as her brow twisted in like of pain. He froze along the table, releasing her with a scowl of disgust.

"Crain—"

The pirate grunted, then erupted into a moan, too long and loud to be pain. Balance compromised, she leaned against the table and trembled.

"You— " Demetri pushed himself off the table and turned frantically to a scarlet Emma, "I promise I had no part in this ridiculous display. I would never just—" his eyes shot above her head. He stiffened. She moved to follow his gaze.

It was Danarius.

"Evening," he said to them all.

Crain replied with a moan.

vVv


	90. Buttermilk

vVv

He was pouring himself a second drink before Crain and Demetri returned to their seats.

"You are early, Demetri," he said.

Without a pause, the prince replied, "I am always early."

"How long have you been here?"

Demetri frowned, "I haven't been paying attention."

"My guards told me that you arrived an hour ago."

He turned to them with a lazy smile, the kind he gave to Emma when teasing. But for some reason, it didn't settle in his face the way it normally did. There were shadows in the smile, and Emma felt a growing unease in the pit of her stomach.

"An hour? Well, we've been quite preoccupied, I hardly noticed the time fly. My friend likes to play games."

Danarius turned his smile to her.

"I noticed. You look familiar," his brow crinkled as he studied the pirate. "Have we met?"

"I was at the ball."

"And we weren't introduced?"

Crain shrugged.

"My apologies," Demetri gestured between them both. "Danarius van Malthas Vanashidion, Astrid Still."

"Hello, Miss Still."

She nodded, the lively woman no longer.

The light air of the parlor had thickened. Danarius sat and chose not to fill the silence, while Demetri seemed lost in thought with Crain yawning beside him. And Fenris, who watched the scene in silence, made Emma nervous. Too many times, he clenched his jaw. Too few times, he blinked. Could he sense danger? His eyes never left Danarius. Did he share the same unease that Emma had—?

"Is something the matter with Fenris, Emma?"

Her stomach dropped, as though someone had tipped back her chair. Not allowing a single moment to pass, Fenris held up his arm.

It bore a long, bleeding cut. One she recognized. It had been properly stitched only a moment ago. Red spilled over his fingers as he held them to the wound.

"You should have Larus look at that," Emma told him.

"Yes, mistress."

Emma glared at the elf's retreat. He didn't have to do that. She would have thought of something. He didn't have to hurt himself for her carelessness. Drawing hands into her lap, she glanced at Danarius to find him staring at her.

Cold eyes from the top of his glass as he drew a sip.

"I may have had something to do with that."

Hadriana sauntered into the room, sitting with a sigh beside her uncle. She took his wine and nursed it heavily, eyes roaming to fall on Emma. Concealing the confusion that Hadriana's assisted lie brought, Emma frowned at her fingers.

"You indulge yourself too much," said Danarius.

She stretched out along the cushions, resting her head upon his shoulder.

"I used to indulge myself a lot more, uncle." Hadriana tilted her head up to gaze at him. He didn't move his eyes from Emma. "Do you remember that?"

"I do."

"A pretty habit, I thought."

"No. That is no longer appropriate."

"It isn't, is it?"

She glanced at Emma.

"Not with the girl here."

Emma pinched her palm. Decided it would be more strange if she didn't voice her discomforts.

"What did you do?"

Hadriana smiled.

"What didn't I do?"

"Hadriana."

"Yes, uncle?"

"I think some of our guests have arrived. Go greet them and bring them here."

The witch left with her smile still intact.

"I apologize for that," said Danarius.

His lips had formed the words out of obligation, and Emma could hear their lack of apology. He did not care for Demetri's furrowed brow, or Crain's grimace— perhaps not even the sheen to Emma's eyes. In fact, a small flush had spread over his nose. He enjoyed Hadriana's prodding, she guessed. Did he fondly remember the days of indulgement? Had his apology been meant for himself, to have stopped their reminiscing?

No. Emma was imagining it. He _had _stopped Hadriana, after all. There was no flush, there was not satisfaction. Danarius looked sick. Bruised eyes, and pale cheeks. If there was no usual lilt to his voice, it was because he was not feeling well.

Emma would not let him retire without Larus checking on him.

"Sit with me," he told her.

Fenris had stressed that she be careful and oblige his wants. And it was obvious that Danarius was in no mood for resistance to those wants. Pride would have to come after safety. Just as the guests began pouring into the parlor, Emma left her seat and sat beside her husband. Demetri could not hide his displeasure and glared at the magister with contempt.

The guests quickly fell into their usual chatter, as though they had been paused only moments before— transported from one parlor to the next. Emma was reminded of sheep changing pastures. The guests clinked glasses, chewed Imraddon's appetizers and made countless remarks on nothing. Without Fenris, the evening grew dull in a fierce hurry. Emma was soon heavy with boredom.

Upon her second sigh, Danarius spoke into her ear.

"You may leave if you wish."

His tone was flat, edged with irritation. Relenting to a child that could not sit still during the Chant of Light. It would not be wise to feed this irritation.

"No, I want to stay with you," she said. "I'm just a little tired."

While Emma had expected this would please, Danarius replied, "Then, refrain from openly displaying your dissatisfaction."

Emma sat straighter, smoothed her dress, and clenched her teeth to prevent any retorts from escaping.

At least when Fenris returned—the cut healed into a thin, pink line—Emma had something to occupy herself with. She leaned closer to Danarius, resting her head upon his shoulder as Hadriana had, so that he could not see the subject of her gaze. Emma watched Fenris take his place before the hearth, his eyes sweeping the room in search of mischief. He looked at her several times, but only for a second. The same way he looked at everyone in the room. Emma delighted in each moment all the same. His ears suggested that he was aware of her continued staring. Once, after making certain that no one was looking, Emma crossed her eyes, flared her nostrils, and curled her lip over her teeth. She wasn't able to see his reaction— that was the sacrifice— but she could hear it. He choked a sudden cough, startling the frumpy woman beside him. When Emma straightened her gaze, Fenris was apologizing to her before she turned up her nose and sought conversation on the far side of the room. The next several glances from Fenris were more akin to glares.

vVv

"Don't suppose you're above scraping it off the floor and pretending nothin' happened."

"Thanron..."

"It's no use getting worked up," he replied. "Shit happens. We'll make another batch."

"There is no time."

"So we'll make somethin' that's ready in no time."

The two were standing before the soup lake that creeped along kitchen tile. Imraddon had tripped over Thanron's foot— which he persisted to imply was no coincidence of placement— while carrying a large pot of soup. It resulted in the mess before them. After having happily bubbled above a low flame fire for eight damn hours.

Thanron was shrugging, and Imraddon was running hands through his hair.

"I cannot believe you."

"For the last time, Imra: I didn't trip you."

"The food has to go out in three minutes. I received specific instructions for a 7:30 meal time."

Thanron gripped Imraddon's shoulders, and gave him a firm shake.

"It's dinner. Yeah? Just dinner. We can scrounge something up." He gestured to the sides that they had prepared. "We'll take these out first and pretend they're courses— the salad first, see? And that'll give us time to figure something out for the main course. Take a deep breath."

The blonde elf did as instructed.

"Let it out slow."

He expelled a sigh, shoulders relaxing beneath his friend's hands.

"Alright. I'll take care of serving the salads. You can start on the main course. Somethin' simple. A thirty minute stew, the kind you whipped up for camp."

"The kind you hate."

"Yeah, the kind that gives me the shits."

Imraddon nodded.

"Okay," Thanron rolled up his sleeves and set to work.

vVv

Thanron burst into the parlor, white tunic splattered with an orange substance. As all eyes turned to him, many pinched with distaste, the elf flashed a sheepish grin.

"Lords'n'ladies," he addressed in a stiff voice, "Uh, you can come on into the dining room, now. Got your first course ready and whatnot." A woman giggled beside him. He returned it with a nervous laugh of his own. "Yeah, fun times ahead. Uh, this way," Thanron turned, shoving the door open wide as he exited. The giggling woman held the door open for the person behind her.

"We're meant to hold it open to ourselves," she said.

In the way that she marveled this with a grin, it didn't seem to bother her in the slightest. It set the tone for the others— as a sort of game— and they delighted in playing their part in shoving the door open for the person behind them.

Danarius had watched them file out in silence. Emma hadn't thought the arrangement bothered him, either, until he shoved the door open to Crain with much more force than was necessary. She tucked her hand inside his and hoped it would aide in calming him. He readily accepted it, but he gripped her fingers with an unfamiliar roughness. Not enough to hurt, but enough to make her uncomfortable.

When they joined the others in the dining room, Thanron was busy with a salad, twisting pepper and salt into their mix. The people gathered before the table with blinking eyes, waiting to be seated by a slave.

Thanron turned with the salad in arms, surprised to find them all standing.

"Go ahead'n sit," he told them.

The woman grinned as she pulled out her own chair and flopped down into it, and the others followed suit with matching amusement.

As Thanron held a clamp-full of salad above the woman's plate, she reached to touch his arm and he nearly dropped the bowl.

"What is your name?"

"Oh—" he seemed relieved. "My name's Thanron, ma'am."

"Is this how you always do it?"

She turned her smile to the salad that he plopped onto her plate, pinching the leaves that met the tablecloth and placing them back atop the pile.

"Do what?" He had moved on to the next guest.

"Serve the food— is this how you always do it?"

"This is my first time, ma'am. Why? How'm I doin'?"

Thanron was four guests down when she called, "You are doing a spectacular job."

"Well, thanks!" he called back.

The room erupted in laughter that surprised Thanron. He flushed and hurried his task, placing three sets of dressing about the table.

"You're letting us decide what dressing we will put onto our salad?"

Thanron's mouth puckered with confusion.

"What if you didn't like what I put on it?"

"That's thoughtful," the man told his neighbor, who nodded around a chuckle.

"I mean," Thanron scratched his head, "I hate the raspberry dressing, but my friend goes nuts for it, so I always hate it when he decides for me."

"I hate raspberry dressing!" cried a robust man.

"Innit? There's buttermilk right to your left, then."

"Thank you!"

Thanron began to leave with a nod, before returning to bow. This late realization spurred another round of laughter, only to be interrupted by a beautiful woman with yellow eyes.

"Are you the dragon boy from Fool's Day?"

The laughter was caught short, struck with their own late realization.

A quietness followed. Emma hoped it was brought on by regret that they would force such a nice, accommodating young man to fight in an arena. To kill people or be killed.

She realized it was all just a part of their desire to be entertained as they all began to cheer.

Thanron had jolted in surprise, before his features slackened and he left without a word.

The giggling woman was quiet. She stared at the door in which he'd exited, brow pinched and mouth agape. Emma looked at her then.

She was pretty. Bright eyed, and younger than the rest. The man to her right was older, old enough to be her grandfather. Handsome, strong featured, a close cut beard. He ate his salad, pausing to steal a cherry tomato from hers. When the woman turned to say something into his ear, he shook his head. She sat back, staring at her plate with sad eyes.

When the cheering died down to normal chatter, she made like she was going to say something, her brow furrowing and her lips parting, but the man patted her hand to stop her. Gently, affectionately. She sighed, and placed a single leaf into her mouth.

"Who is that?" Emma asked Danarius.

He had been staring at the yellow eyed woman. Emma's question made him blink and he inclined an ear, "Once more, flower."

"That young woman on the end, with the green dress."

Danarius squinted at the woman, and shook his head.

"I suppose that is Lord Moziel's daughter."

"I like her."

"You do? She's toying with Thanron."

"I thought so, but she seemed upset by that woman's comment. I think she sincerely likes Thanron's methods."

Danarius frowned in thought. "Oh, that's right. Lord Moziel pays his elves."

"He doesn't own slaves?"

"No. And you won't find a single person here speaking to him because of it."

Emma watched the pair more carefully until the next course was brought out.

vVv

Thanron was serving her a helping of boiled potatoes and broccoli when the woman touched his arm again. This time, he suppressed the flinch and stared at her expectantly.

"I'm sorry," she said, voice quiet.

He matched her murmur, "For what?"

"For what happened to you, Thanron."

It felt strange to hear his name on a noble woman's lips.

"I can't imagine, I—" the woman shook her head. "If it were me, I wouldn't have been able to… so much as move."

"Did you see it?" he asked, without thinking. "Were you there?"

She grimaced, hurriedly shaking her head.

"No, I wouldn't— I couldn't."

"Oh."

"My father and I," Thanron glanced at the older man that sipped his wine in silence, "We," she dropped her voice to a whisper, prompting Thanron to bend nearer, "We're working to abolish Fool's Day."

A piece of potato left the serving bowl to plop on the floor. Thanron righted himself, adjusting the bowl in his arms and grabbing the spoon. He doled out a generous helping to the old man.

"I like to put buttermilk on my potatoes," he told them both. "You should try it."

The old man was already reaching for the dressing.

Thanron finished serving out the potatoes, glancing at the girl's chewing lips every now and then. The lips that formed pretty words, glistening with buttermilk. They met eyes as he was leaving the room, her cheeks coloring when she noticed him looking.

vVv

Imraddon stared at his reddened face as he entered the kitchens.

"What did they say this time?" he asked.

The elf shook his head.

"Nothin' bad this time."

Imraddon nodded and returned to seasoning the stew.

"Good. I was ready to add a pinch too much salt."

"No," he glanced up to find Thanron gazing at the door, "make it good."

His face was still red, and Imraddon began to wonder why.

vVv

Danarius contemplated her importance. Decided she didn't possess a great deal. She was a widow, attending her late husband's political parties because she was no doubt in search of a new source of income. Beautiful, and so accepted to these gatherings. Welcome, because she poured her husband's money into the pot every now and then. Danarius placed her surname on the lists more out of habit than anything— since her late husband was a smart voice in the crowd.

Not too many relatives, if he recalled correctly. If he could wait, Danarius would consult records to confirm this. If he couldn't, and the ache in his stomach, the pulsing behind his eyes, the tremor to his fingers, suggested he couldn't, he would follow the bitch home and Pull her. Watch the blood jet from that impudent mouth, the yellow eyes rolling back into her head. He quickened to imagine her drowned screams, groin twitching as he watched her bring each forkful to her lips. When she finally caught him staring— and he had been staring for a long time, planning her death— her lips formed a smile around her fork. She drew it from her mouth a little slower than was polite. As if the consumption of potatoes could arouse him. No, not boiled potatoes. Boiled blood, more like. The thought of heating hers made him flush.

He smiled back.

vVv

The stew was ready to go out. Thanron found himself taking a breath before he left to serve it.

He scooped it out to them both with care, refusing to let a single drop splash the outer rim of their ceramic.

"My name is Kirien," she blurted just as he finished.

He repeated, "I'm Thanron, ma'am," like an idiot.

Kirien smiled.

"Nice to meet you, Thanron."

"Likewise."

On his way out, he noticed a piece of paper had appeared beside her hand. Not a fool, he rounded up the dressings, and retrieved it.

He opened it inside the kitchens. A bunch of meaningless lines, written in pink lipstick. Hurrying to Imraddon, he shoved it into his hands.

"Read it to me."

Imraddon wiped off his hands and unfolded the paper. He stared at its message.

"What's it say, Imra?"

Imraddon kept staring at it. Maybe it was hard to make out. Thanron waited, antsy at best.

Finally, the elf spoke. Beautiful words, he spoke.

"'Please meet me behind the estate when dinner is through—'"

Thanron shouted, "Yeah! Buttermilk!"

vVv

The guests had paused their meal to accommodate the sudden exclamation, before returning to their conversations. Kirien flushed at her father's quizzical brow.

vVv

"A woman wants to rendezvous with you after dinner?"

Thanron nodded, "Name's Kirien."

Handing him the note, Imraddon returned to arranging the dessert course's cake.

"How did that come about?"

"Imra, she went nuts for me. From the moment she first saw me, she loved everything I did— everything I said. I'll spare my ego and admit that's never happened before."

Imraddon raised brows at the strawberries. Hadn't it?

"I mean— and d'you know what? She hates Fool's Day."

"How generous of her."

"And she's got the prettiest lips you've ever seen, Imra, just—"

Imraddon sighed sharply, and turned from the cake.

"I'm trying to focus. Get started on the dishes. I want them finished before this little meeting of yours."

Grinning from ear to ear, Thanron began washing the dishes. Halfway in, he was whistling a tune. He didn't seem to mind that Imraddon readied to serve the cake. Understandable, given his later arrangement.

When he stepped out, he searched every pair of lips— before deciding himself a fool.

This was bound to happen, he thought to himself as he served. This day was going to come, sooner or later. Imraddon had hoped for later— after he had died in a freak accident and so couldn't witness his love with another person.

When he leaned to serve a woman with blonde hair and grey eyes, she spoke.

"Is Thanron alright?"

Imraddon's hand stiffened around the plate. So, it's this one, then.

"Quite alright, my lady."

"Oh, good."

She watched him cut her piece. When it was arranged before her, she leaned— seemingly away from the old man beside her— to whisper into his ear.

"Would you like to join?"

Imraddon's breath hitched in his throat, the woman leaning away with a smile. Amazed, he gathered the empty plates and returned to the kitchen.

Thanron glanced up from the sink with a smile still in place. It fell upon seeing something in Imraddon's face.

"What? What's that look for?"

Imraddon shook his head, collecting himself.

"Your friend Kirien invited me to the meeting."

Thanron stared.

"She what?"

"I was surprised, too."

"You're fuckin' with me."

"I was jealous at first." He glared at Thanron. "I was jealous. You know how I feel, you little shit. If you get an offer from someone else, accept it. I know you are not attracted to me that way. But, considering my feelings, it would be kind of you to refrain from skipping about."

Thanron face grew apologetic.

"Aw, Imra, I'm sorry. I was just excited to feel a pair of tits. It's not like I'm in love with the lady."

Though it shouldn't have, as it was horribly crass, it made Imraddon feel better to hear it.

"I see."

"Do you like tits?"

Imraddon stared at him.

"I wouldn't mind you joinin'. Tits don't fall into your palms every day."

Flushing, Imraddon lied, "Yes, I like them."

"Yeah? Sure you're not too gay for tits?"

Too gay for tits…?

"I said I like them."

"Then, come along," shrugged Thanron. "Wouldn't deny my best mate the chance to feel some tits."

"Oh…then— " Imraddon stammered. "Thanks. I will."

"Right, then."

Imraddon could not believe his fortune. An excuse for a sexual encounter with Thanron.

vVv

Thanron's heart was fit to burst into a million pieces. Fit to jump right out his chest.

vVv


	91. Curiosity

vVv

Something was happening between Danarius and the yellow eyed woman. They shared many glances— each by no means discrete. The magister openly gazed at her, cheeks rosy and eyes glazed with what could only be described as yearning. The woman stared back, more and more daring in her sultriness upon each glance. First, it was the sexual eating. Then, the seductive drinking. Then, in the parlor, it was the way she sat. Dress hiked too high, legs folding this way and that to reveal different angles of her flesh. Emma hadn't cared to start with. The yellow eyed woman could have Danarius.

But then, when she noticed his hand tightening around the chair's arm, the tensity in his limbs, Emma wondered at the reason for his passion. He never expressed an interest in women other than Emma— not even from the scores of women that had visited his seaside palace. Indeed, Danarius even showed restraint with his wife, who was under a spell that would render refusing his advances quite difficult. If he became sick with lust, Fenris was made to suffer his satiation. So, why did he seem to itch for this woman?

Emma found herself staring at the yellow eyed woman, in search of clues as to how she elicited his squirming. She was very beautiful, to be certain. But then, Danarius did not seem the sort of man to be solely drawn by beauty.

Upon a glance, Fenris seemed just as fixated on the magister's fixation, his eyes moving between them both.

"Oi, Emma."

Thanron knelt down beside her, his voice in her ear.

"We've to cancel our game o' wicked grace."

"Oh," she turned to him. "Why?"

"Somethin' came up."

Emma turned back around with a light scowl.

"Fine, then."

"Don't be sore," Thanron rose to his feet. "Promise there'll be tomorrow."

"You better have a good reason for cancelling. I was looking forward to it. I'm so—" About to say _bored, _Emma glanced at a listening Danarius and chose a different path, "ready to beat you."

"Aw, it's cute you think there's any chance. Trust me," Thanron grinned, "reason's plenty good."

"Hmph."

"Later, Emma girl."

"Hmph. Later."

The yellow eyed woman watched Thanron's exit with an interest that Emma perceived as unsavory. She was something of a minx, Emma was beginning to realize.

"I was wondering," she spoke in her low, sultry voice that only a mouth like hers could possibly emit, "would you be at all willing to sell one of your elves?"

As they'd shared a silent, ongoing conversation, the woman hadn't needed to address him before asking.

"Which one has claimed your interest, madam?"

She smiled and revealed that a little lipstick had rubbed onto her front tooth. Emma snorted, prompting a firm glance from Danarius.

"The dragon boy," said the woman.

Emma rolled her eyes. Fat chance of that.

"I could make use of him, and his talent." She refolded her legs, tucked a lock behind her ear. "You see, I saw his performance at the arena, and I became entranced—"

"His performance?" said Emma, appalled, 'He was fighting to _live_."

"Flower," Danarius took her hand, "If you cannot be polite, I will be forced to request your retirement from the evening."

She glared up at him, eyes wide, but his eyes were trained on the woman. How could Danarius be permitting her to speak of Thanron this way? When he reacted the way he had to his ensnarement. Had Danarius not feared, had he not prayed? This woman was insulting Thanron.

"When you say, 'use of him'..." trailed Danarius. "You mean competitive fighting?"

"I mean competitive fighting," she said. "Would he not make a superb fighter?"

Danarius smiled, leaning along the armrest to rest his chin against his palm.

"He does seem to have a knack for it."

Emma's lips parted in astonishment.

"Are you in the business of fighting then?"

The woman shook her head.

"It is only a hobby. But I have not encountered a young elf with his potential in a long time. Where," she leaned forward, the tops over her breasts spilling over her bodice, "pray tell, did you buy him?"

"I did not. I personally oversaw his breeding."

The woman laughed. "Even better! His parents were good specimens?"

"The best."

"I suppose you are quite attached, then."

Danarius chuckled. "I am."

"How much would I be able to persuade you with?"

He stood, Emma pale beside him.

"I do not discuss such vulgarities in my parlor," Danarius held out his hand. "Let us seek a more private venue."

The woman took his hand with a smirk.

"Wait!" Emma blurted. "Please, Danarius, you cannot actually be considering—"

He glanced indifferently at her.

"Such matters are none of your concern, Flower."

"Danarius. I cannot allow this."

The woman spoke up behind him.

"You wife is rather untame."

Emma glared at her.

"Yes," he sighed. Then, Danarius held out an arm for the woman to hook hers through and they left.

When she made to follow them, a hand had gripped hers.

"Don't," said Fenris.

"But—"

"He won't be selling Thanron."

vVv

"Now that we're here," said Thanron, frowning, "it feels a little scummy, doesn't it?"

In the dark, Imraddon snorted.

"You are just now realizing that?"

They stood waiting behind the cottage, out by the shed. Not a light shed upon them. They'd figured they could conduct their business in the shed itself— well Thanron had. Imraddon'd been pretty quiet since they'd left the kitchens.

Each minute that they sat waiting around for Kirien, Thanron felt more and more stupid. And grubby. And horny, given what they waited for.

"I mean," he leaned his head back against the shed, arms resting on his knees. "She doesn't know what kinda guys we are."

"No, she does not."

"All she knows about me is that I killed a whole bunch of people. Why does she wanna…?"

"Irresponsible."

"She should be more careful, right?"

"Indeed."

"Can I have a bite?"

A forkful of cake was pressed to his lips.

"Yuck," said Thanron, chewing. He spat into the grass. "My insults to the chef."

"Careful, boy."

"Make me a lemon one."

"No."

"You always say 'no', and then you always make it."

"This time I mean it."

"You always say that."

Thanron pulled at the grass.

"Do you think she changed her mind?"

"If she has any sense."

"I reckon she does, since she hates Fool's Day." Thanron sighed, turning his head to stare at Imraddon's outline. "Say…" he narrowed his eyes, "d'you've had a go with her?"

Imraddon's answer was immediate.

"No."

Thanron nodded. He was relieved.

"Thought not. D'you even like tits?"

His mouth was full, "What do you think?"

"I think you wanted a go with me."

"Mm."

"Didn't you?"

"I'm trying to eat, Thanron."

"Yeah, well, I spit in it."

"Mm."

"'Mm. Mm.'"

Thanron pulled at the grass.

"You're a lout," he told Imraddon.

They sat in silence.

"I don't think she's comin'."

"Nor I."

"You really wouldn't have tried anything?"

"… I dislike the circumstance."

"Why d'you come along, then?"

"Curiosity."

Thanron mimicked his accent out of boredom, enunciating each syllable.

"I am Imraddon. Curiosity. I am a curious lout named Imraddon."

A couple minutes of this passed. 'Till he turned to Imraddon's figure.

"Try to talk like me," he told him.

"…what shall I…?"

"Say, 'Oi, Thanron. D'you wanna mess about?'"

Imraddon was silent. Thanron's face heated as he waited, his stomach flipping.

When no sound came, Thanron nudged his side.

"Hurry up."

"Uh—oh, oi, Thanron. Do you wanna mess—"

Thanron grabbed his shadow and pulled it to his face. His mouth brushed the corner of Imraddon's mouth, before finding his lips. They kissed.

Their mouths moved slowly, searchingly. Thanron, after placing a hand on the back of the elf's neck, said, "You taste like cake, Imra."

"You will manage."

Imraddon's voice was rough, lost of it's usual composure. It melted their kiss like butter, and melted away some of Thanron's caution. He gripped his neck firmer, parting his lips to kiss more of him. Their breath mingled together as air came more and more hard to come by. Thanron was forgetting to inhale through his nose, too caught up.

And he was twitching in his trousers.

Then, Imraddon reached a hand to pinch Thanron's lower lip between his fingers, still moving his own against it. He sucked at the lip. Thanron broke away, laughing and breathing hard.

"What is that? Is that a thing?"

"Yes."

"Lemme try."

Thanron grabbed Imraddon's hair and pulled. With the elf's throat exposed, he wrapped lips around the muscle and bit. Imraddon hissed, gripping Thanron's arm and shoving him away. Thanron fell back into the grass, laughing.

"Imra, did I scare—"

Lips crashed against his, their teeth knocking together. Imraddon swiped his tongue along the kiss, and Thanron parted lips to accept it. They rolled 'em together, kiss reaching heights that bordered desperate need. Thanron was hard enough to penetrate brick. Or Imraddon.

Upon the thought of his fantasies coming true, the ones in which he bent the oaf over and pounded his brains out, Thanron realized that he was underneath him. And that wasn't gonna work.

He sent heat into his hand, pressed it to Imraddon's stomach. Through his tunic, it wasn't enough to burn him. Just surprise him— and it did. Grunting, Thanron rolled them over so that he was on top, before lowering lips to his throat again. He bit, Imraddon moaned a curse in Arcanum, and it sent a zap of pleasure to his groin.

"Oi, say somethin' else."

"What?"

Thanron lowered his thigh to press between Imraddon's legs, who gasped, reaching an arm around Thanron to crush him closer. Thanron pressed hot fingers to his throat, and Imraddon released his hold with a strangled moan. Thanron rolled his tongue over the skin he'd heated.

"Thanron…"

It wasn't Imraddon who'd said his name. They froze.

"I'm sorry…" came Kirien's hushed voice. "I had been waiting on the other end of the…"

"Oh," they said.

"I'm sorry. For interrupting. I'll be on my wa—"

"No." Imraddon pushed Thanron off of him and sat up. "Come here. We had simply tired of waiting."

Thanron whispered, "What are you—?"

"I owe her." Then his voice was in his ear. Not seductive. Firm. The voice he used when he meant business. "Enjoy this woman," he said. "She will be your last."

That made him flush a bit.

"Think so, huh?"

Imraddon drew away.

"I do."

"Then, you'll stay?"

"I will do more than stay."

Thanron had stirred upon the words.

But, to his bewilderment, Imraddon spent almost all his efforts on Kirien. Kissed her, touched her all over, even licked her a while. He did all but enter her. That, he left to Thanron.

Really, the only thing he did he to Thanron was kiss him as Thanron finished onto her back. Thanron had grunted, moaned into his mouth, and reached a hand to grip his hair.

Their kiss was the sole reason he was able to finish, truth be told.

In Kirien's defense, she had a tough act to follow.

After the lass had left, and the men adjusted their clothes, Thanron asked him around a grin.

"Why'd you do that?"

"Curiosity."

"Curiosity," he mimicked. "Did you like it?"

"I think I prefer women now."

"Ha!"

"In all seriousness," Imraddon's grimace was illuminated by the torchlight as they neared the cottage. He wiped his mouth and shivered. "I do not understand the appeal."

Thanron laughed.

"Yeah, well, we don't taste great, either."

"So you have tried?"

"Ugh."

"I can assure you, it is far better than—" he stopped, eyes screwing into a tighter grimace as he extracted a wiry hair from his mouth. He turned to Thanron, shivering.

"Aw, don't be such a baby."

vVv

Emma watched as Fenris was approached by a dinner party infiltrating guard. The one called Beron, if she could remember correctly.

"Need your help."

"I am minding the mistress."

"Bug is going around. Four of our boys started puking up supper. We're short guards."

"Have Krayg sort it out."

"He's gone home. He was one of the sick ones."

Fenris sighed, gave Emma a parting glance, and left.

Not long after, she was approached by a long, angular man with with a thin beard and round glasses.

"Lady Vanashidion," he addressed her with a bow. Ooh, Emma straightened. A bowing one.

"Lord…"

"Lord Gath," he bowed again. The glasses slid to the tip of his nose.

She held out a hand, "Nice to meet you."

Lord Gath took it, bowing another time. His glasses were a millimeter from falling— ah, he pushed them up with one long index finger. This wasn't his first bow-introduction.

"I must inquire as to the whereabouts of your husband— I need to speak to him."

"Oh," she gave an apologetic smile. "I'm sorry, but I'm afraid he is predisposed with another guest."

That seemed to rattle him. He turned, leaning to peer at the clocktower, through the window. It was far away to read, he couldn't make it out. Resigning, he turned back to her with pleading eyes.

"I would have requested— I just arrived. I really must speak to him, it is a crucial matter—"

Emma nodded. The man had paled with worry. Whatever it was, it must have been more important than the filthy transaction, though fake it may have been, that was going on upstairs.

"I will bring him."

"Oh," the man sighed, bowing, of course. "Oh, thank you, Lady Vanashidian."

She left the parlor to climb the stairs, toward the magister's study, wondering what she would find there. Half expecting them engaged in carnal activity, half expecting him to be nodding over parchment. Or maybe he sent her off ages ago, and he had selfishly left Emma to endure the boredom.

Emma neared the door, pressed her ear to it in curiosity.

To her involuntary dismay, there _were _carnal sounds within. Whimpered moans from the woman, and sighed murmurings from Danarius. She drew away from the door, cursing the sadness that had taken her. Why should she feel sad? It wasn't like with Fenris. It wasn't real. She angrily wiped away tears, ran a hand over her hair.

Silly.

Oh, well. Lord Gath would have to wait. Emma wasn't going to burst in on—

"_Pl—ease… I beg— stop._"

Her blood ran cold.

The words had been choked from the woman's mouth.

Her hands hurried to wrap around the knob, and she shoved it open to trip inside, clapping a hand to her mouth as her eyes met the horror.

Emma started to scream, but couldn't find her voice— it left her in a short sob.

"Oh, maker!" she whispered. "Danari— oh."

She stepped forward, reaching a hand to the table as her legs weakened. It was slick with hot blood, her hand slid and she crumpled to the floor.

"Emma…such timing."

She whimpered at the sound of his voice, body wracked with tremors that made her teeth pierce her bottom lip— made her legs jerk around the sticky carpet.

"Poor thing… we're scaring her, madam."

_"Uh… uhh…"_

Emma moaned, stomach churning. She burped. Moaned. Then she shot up to lean on her hands and vomit against the carpet below. She gagged on bile and pulled away.

"Flower, do be quiet."

Breathing deeply, Emma lifted hands to her hair and shook. She moved them over her ears to try and block the woman's pain. When her body demanded another look, completely without consent, Emma drew her eyes upward.

The woman was being Pulled.

Slowly.

Blood left every opening of her body: pores, hair follicles, all of it. She was covered in red. He had forced the blood from her body, was able to make it rupture through her flesh in places. Her stomach hung open where the blood had broke it through, intestines dangling between her legs. She was held upright by the shreds of a curtain he must have torn down— tied to two wall candelabras behind her.

Danarius stood before her, moving his fingers in subtle ways with the other tucked into his pocket. Another burst of blood forced from the woman's socket, the yellow eye bursting out and rolling along the floor. It stopped near Emma. It stared at her.

Emma clenched her fists, considered vomiting again. Perhaps screaming for help— for Fenris. Instead, she breathed. And counted each breath. And waited.

When it was over, long after she'd laid back down against the carpet and stared at the blood on her fingers, he approached her. Knelt down beside her.

"What are you thinking?"

She told him the truth.

"I won't allow you to ask a single elf to clean this up."

Danarius sighed, "Emma."

"You're cleaning it up, Danarius." She rose into a sit. "Not Fenris, not Imraddon, not Elen or Yanwen— _you—_" Emma turned to vomit.

"Elen and Fenris have cleaned worse."

She wiped her mouth.

"If you don't, I will."

Cocking his head, Danarius smiled. There was blood across his mouth.

"Why you?"

"Because I didn't stop you."

"You arrived after it was too late to stop it. This isn't your fault. Fenris will tend to matters, I'm far too busy. And I have an appointment with Larus, remember?"

"Why did you do it?"

"She insulted my family."

"You Pulled her."

"She wanted me to sell my son to fight for his life again. When we arrived here, she wanted me to take her against the wall. She was repulsive Emma. The world is better off."

"As if you didn't mistreat an elf. A slave. As if you didn't own them. As if you don't rape Fenris, and torture him—"

"You know nothing of my relationship with him."

"I know he doesn't want it."

"Does he not?"

"I know he does not. He is a slave."

Chuckling softly, Danarius brushed the hair that had stuck to the cold sweat of her brow. She leaned into his touch— slapped his hand away.

"Fenris. Fetch a mop."

Emma turned to see that the elf was standing in the door. His sleeves rolled up, his brow resting on an arm that braced against the doorframe. It covered his eyes. He didn't answer.

"No," she said. "I am cleaning this."

"My lady," Fenris spoke into the doorframe, his lips brushing the wood, "go to your chambers, please. I will take care of it."

Emma stood on weak knees.

"You leave, Fenris. I am cleaning it."

Danarius stared at her.

"Fine."

Fenris dropped his arm with a sharp sigh.

"Master—"

"Let her be. Emma, I want this clean in an hour."

"She can't do this, master."

"We will see," he replied.

"Get out, Fenris."

Emma glared at the elf as Danarius left.

"Emma," said Fenris. "Please."

"Leave."

He did.

Emma used her first five minutes to weep. The next ten, to stare at the yellow eyed woman. To stare at what had been done to her by the man she shared a bed with. She bent to vomit once more, but was only rewarded with a couple dry heaves.

She sighed. Wiped her mouth.

Then, she rolled up the sleeves of her dress and set to work.

vVv


	92. What a mess

vVv

Cleaning up a body was a nasty business. Especially one so mangled as the yellow-eyed woman. Fenris couldn't leave the girl to clean it up on her own. After being thrown out of the study, he had hurried downstairs. Ready to apologize to their guests and send them home, he had stared in disbelief upon finding Danarius among them. Changed, hair wet from the baths, laughing, and sipping wine. And still hungry for more.

Fenris knew that look well. The lazy smile, the slow gaze from face to face, the color to his cheeks; Danarius wanted more blood. He would be quite content to give Emma another mess to clean before the night was through.

Hesitating in the parlor's doorway, he wondered if he should remain with Danarius, instead. To try and stop any more blood from being Pulled.

He left in growled frustration. Danarius could not be stopped upon his decision to Pull, and he needed to return to Emma before she unravelled.

Inside the shed, he sniffed at the air. It smelled of sex.

He grabbed at the essentials; a bucket, lye, a mop, scrubbing tools, sponges. Arms full of supplies, he all but ran back inside. Liquor, perfume, towels— lots of them. He took the stairs back to the parlor, two at a time, and set down the bucket of soaps to open its door.

Emma was criminally cute, even in the horrible circumstance. He couldn't help but think so as she grunted— her noises too loud to have noticed his entry. She had moved the furniture away from the Orlesian rug that had decorated the floor, and was dragging the woman's body near its edge. One of the tugs prompted the woman's breasts to fall out of her dress. Emma stared, dropped her legs, then moved to pinch the fabric's edge and pull it back up.

"Do you want a drink?" he asked.

She yelped and snapped her hand back.

"Fenris! I told you to leave."

"No."

"This is not a debate. Leave, for the last time, _lea_—"

Fenris held out arms and dropped the supplies to the floor. After flinching, the human narrowed eyes at him.

"What do you think you're protecting me from?" he asked her.

She stared at him a moment before glancing back at the yellow-eyed woman's corpse.

"I'm too accustomed to be bothered," he said. "Cleaning the aftermath of Danarius's play is no more disturbing to me than cleaning the aftermath of dinner."

He bent at the knees to rifle through the tools.

Emma's voice was faint.

"I want to be accustomed, too."

Eyes trained on the woman's open stomach, she said, "I don't want to be tortured by death anymore." Her voice dropped to a whisper. "I'm sick of this fear."

Emma lowered to grab the woman's legs and drag her.

"I'm going to look at her," she said with a sharp tug, "and touch her." Emma's eyes filled with tears. "And become too accustomed to be bother— uh." She dropped a leg and vomited on the rug.

Fenris was at her side, pulling her away from the woman's corpse and lowering her to the floor. She complied and wretched dryly between gasps for air.

"I hate this," she moaned. "I hate this. I'm such a coward."

He gripped the back of her head and brought her brow to his. Her breath was sour against his face, and still he wanted nothing more than to kiss her. Take her from this room and kiss her until she stopped feeling the fear that made her sick.

"You are not a coward," he told her. "As much as I'd like to banish you from this room, I admire you for remaining."

She leaned to look up at him, pleadingly, fingers reaching to grip his hand,

"Will you help me?"

Fenris sighed, "That is all I want to do. Let me deal with this—"

"No," she gripped his hand tighter. "Help me not to fear."

He frowned at her, until she left him to return to the yellow-eyed woman. Glaring, she gripped the woman's legs with determination and pulled her the rest of the way. Then she knelt to move the stiff limbs at her sides, into a bloody narrow. Fenris watched as she tugged the carpet's edge over the woman's body and grunted into the first roll.

Unable to stand by any longer, he crouched beside her and helped her roll it the rest of the way. He glanced at her brow, watching the sheen form across her brow, teeth puncturing her lip. He didn't dare move the rug from her grasp and finish the job— he would only quietly assist what was to be her own endeavor. The rug met the bookshelf with a final hard push from Emma. Fenris snatched a falling book from the air before it could meet Emma's head, and returned it to its place.

With that, the corpse was gone. Emma sighed.

But the blood— its stink mixed with the woman's feces— permeated the air in an aggressive reminder.

"Right," she wiped tremoring, red hands on the front of her thoroughly ruined dress. "Done with that. What is next?"

Fenris left her side to retrieve some things from his pile of supplies. After he had finished soaking the first couple towels, her voice came again.

"Why would he do this?"

He straightened, walked to place a towel into her hand. Her eyes distantly watched blood dripping from the table's edge to the puddle that had formed on the floorboards beneath it.

"He told you," Fenris said. "She insulted his family."

She brought hands to her ears and closed her eyes as an image— or phantom sound— took hold of her. Then, just as quickly as they had risen, her hands fell to her sides.

"He is mad," she said softly. "He is…"

Fenris left her to absorb that realization and set to soaking up the blood that marinated the table.

"I thought he was mad, I always knew that, but I didn't think…" He glanced up as fresh tears followed the wet trail of old tears. "Is he terribly mad, Fenris?"

His hands slowed his wiping, and he winced. What to say? Should he tell the truth? _Yes, Emma. This experience hasn't given you the slightest indication as to how mad he is._ Should he give her some false hope, instead? So that fear couldn't take her until Demetri's plans set sail?

"Just as you observed at breakfast," he said, "he is not well now."

"'Now'?" she asked, stepping to his side and leaning to glimpse his face beneath his hair.  
"He was better before? He was better when he announced our betrothal?"

Fenris looked at her.

"He was better," he replied. "When Na Vanum possesses him as often as he does now, it means that something is wrong. It changes Danarius each time— he wants for blood, just as the Pull thirsts for it."

"It comes and goes? Like a foot fungus?"

Emma groaned and stepped to wipe the blood that had spattered the window.

"Something causes it each time," Fenris said, dropping eyes to his blotched towel, "but I have not been able to discern what." He furrowed his brow. "I haven't noticed a pattern. For a time, I had thought it was caused by copious amounts of stress— but then Na Vanum had returned during a particularly uneventful month a few years back."

"What happens?"

Fenris lifted the rag to gesture about the room.

"This."

"How often?"

He turned to stare at her. Watched her for signs of distress.

"Often."

Her expression didn't change. She only nodded.

"For the longest time," she said, her wavering voice revealing what her face concealed, "I wondered why you were so afraid. 'Don't accept the cake', 'don't speak to him' and that. Then, I saw what he did to you. I thought, 'this is why'. But it isn't, is it? It's worse."

Fenris didn't know how to answer that, either. She continued before he could.

"He was overwhelming; he forced me to do things that made me uncomfortable. But he never hurt me. He was more kind than I had expected a slave owning magister of Tevinter to be." She paused, fear finally finding its way to her face. "Will he hurt me now? Will he hurt you?"

The elf shook his head once.

"He won't hurt you."

Her brow creased.

"Will he hurt you?" she repeated.

Fenris tried to think of the most sensitive way to word it, eyes searching the ceiling for answers.

"I won't let him."

Her voice had surprised him. It had left her, rough and raw. He had never heard the human speak in such a way. Took in the sight of her hard eyes, tight fists, straight shoulders.

"I won't let you try," he told her. "He may hurt you, uninten—"

She kicked the leg of a chair and it crashed to the floor with a resounding _bang _of wood smacking wood. Fenris rose brows at the display. Emma then whirled to glare at him, jutting out a finger in a hard point.

"You are not to be alone with him. You're not to leave my side."  
He swiped a hand along his face. If Danarius demanded his company, Fenris could not—

"You know I can't," he said.

Wordlessly, she grabbed the second bucket and stepped to gather scattered innards. Fingers pinching unfamiliar flesh, still slick with life, she said nothing. Simply grimaced and endured. He watched, transfixed, by the juxtaposition of circumstances in which they shared a room. In a study much like this one, miles away, Fenris had thought her a naive lamb that he must coddle and protect. Now, there she bent at the knees to collect a yellow eye, unceremoniously tossing it into her bucket of death.

He watched… and she never ceased to amaze him.

Danarius must have been downstairs, expecting her to crack as she carried out this heinous task. Shamefully, he had thought the same. Of course, she was stronger than that. And she desired to be stronger still.

"The next time… " He decided to be blunt— she needed him to be blunt. No longer a lamb to be coddled. And there was no gentle phrasing for such things. "Don't cry. Don't scream. Don't react to it as strongly."

Emma gazed into her bucket.

"Don't throw up. He hates that."

She nodded, then looked up at him.

"He hates it?"

Fenris gloved his hands and began readying the lye.

"The people who cannot endure Danarius in his entirety do not remain long. Fear and hysterics bore him— enrage him on bad days." He glanced at her. She had sat herself in a chair, hugging the bucket to her lap. Its bloodied rim marked her dress and arms.

"Back at the castle," Fenris continued, "you expressed a defiance that intrigued him. He fell in love with that defiance. He only wants people that will accept him wholly— as we all do. When he senses that you are fearful, he will begin to treat you with disdain. He begins to hate the people that want to leave him."

"How many people?"

The elf thought.

"Too many than I can remember. And that's only since I can remember."

After a silence, Emma said, "The night he choked me, he was afraid of abandonment."

"Ah, no one has ever," he scrubbed at the blood spattered table, "abandoned Danarius…he simply doesn't want them to want to. "

"He kills them."

"Yes."

"Larus does not fear him, so he lives."

Fenris nodded. "Larus is driven by love to remain beside Danarius. They are true friends. Or so I have come to think in my years of observing them. Yet— still — I believe even Larus would be in danger if he began to protest too strongly. And killed if he attempted to flee."

She was idly sloshing the contents of her bucket.

"You must pretend to tolerate his actions, for now."

"How?"

A good question. How, indeed.

"How do you do it?" she rephrased as he thought.

"I… think of other things."

Emma shook her head slowly, chewed her lip.

"Anything else?" she asked.

The elf stopped his scrubbing.

"I pour myself into the task itself— I focus… focus only on ministrations. Understand?"

"No."

vVv

He raised his gaze to the ceiling and narrowed his eyes, gloved fingers tapping the bloody table. Thinking. She watched him think. She poured herself into staring at him, and began to understand his meaning as the jumbled knot that had become her stomach twitched with the possibility of loosening.

The elf said, "Difficult to explain. But— if I am killing someone, I think only of the physical aspect of the kill. I think, 'this will cause him more pain or less pain'. Or… 'I should place my foot here to avoid this', 'I should move my arm there to induce that'." He lowered eyes to hers with anothe "Understand?"

She stared at him.

"I think so."

Fenris nodded, leaned to scrub— hard. She watched the veins in his arms move to accommodate the task. His brow was furrowed in concentration.

"Does this bother you?" she asked him.

Hair moved to cover his eyes as he shook his head.

"It never did."

The sound of scrubbing filled their silence.

"Never?"

"Not the sight of blood, no, The aftermath of death never unsettled me. It is the first thing I can remember, and so familiar. It is…" he straightened to assess his handiwork. Satisfied, he reached for a wet towel to polish it off.

He polished it off. With a wet towel— wet with blood,

Seeping from her pores— jaws unhinged in a silent scream. He is stroking himself to the sight of her open belly, her open mouth pouring groans of pain. He curls a finger to make blood spurt from her socket, the eye moves around to let it. It's bulging further than the right eye, another Pull from Danarius sends it flying to stare at her. He grins, and some of the blood flecks his tooth just as the lipstick that still smeared hers. Emma jolts each time he glances to her. His eyes fall upon hers in an unsettling mixture of disgust and sympathy. The woman vomits the last her blood. Danarius seems annoyed to not have had the chance to Pull it out. The woman is dead—

"Emma," she blinked through the tears to find the elf's face gazing down on hers. They were on the floor, her head resting in his lap. "I think you've had enough," he said.

"No."

The elf placed hands on either side of Emma's face, and bent, his hair concealing much of the scene.

He said, "Yes." Before she could protest, he placed a palm to her mouth. "Yes," he said again. "You watched Danarius butcher a woman and then you gathered her entrails. Let us consider that sufficient for the evening."

Emma shivered.

"Okay," she said. "You're right."

For a time, they made no move to leave each other. Until the elf was struck with realization— he gently drew himself away with a low apology. Emma leaned up.

"What?"

He rose, leaning to grab the bucket of insides.

"The itching. I'd forgotten."

Emma drew herself to knees and frowned at his back. He grabbed a towel to finish off the window pane.

The itching? Since when did it… it had gone for a time, but Emma hadn't realized that it was…

"Gone," she said.

Fenris froze before the window.

He turned slowly, one hand still resting against glass.

"What did you say?"

Emma brought a hand to her mouth. Dropped it.

"It's gone," she said.

The elf sucked a small breath through his teeth.

"How?"

"I don't know. It just is."

He dropped hands at his sides.

"When?"

The elf's voice was sharp.

"I don't remember exactly," she stammered, startled by his tone. "After we got back, I— at the ball, we…" Emma shook her head, "I don't know. I can't remember. I can't remember what it felt like."

"But why?" he asked, peering at the door.

"Is it possible that we broke it? By spending time together?"

"No. I tried that. It became worse. You don't remember?"

Emma frowned.

"I do, but— I don't."

"That is the way it was before. You didn't understand why you had…it is as though the spell has been…" He stared up at her beneath a furrowed brow. "Do you— love him anymore?"

She stared.

"I don't know."

"Damn it, Emma! Help me to understand!"

"I'm trying! I don't understand it, either!"

Emma stared down at her bloody fingers, glanced back up at him.

"Hadn't you noticed a change?" she asked.

The elf shook his head.

"I had thought… you were able to endure my presence as a friend."

She screwed her face in a grimace.

Able to endure?

The elf shook his head again. He placed a trembling red hand to his brow and closed his eyes. She was about to speak when he filled the silence.

"You need to speak with Danarius," he said. "Do not hide your discomfort. That will rouse suspicion. He expects you to be bothered. But you must show him that you still love him, and that you have no desire to leave."

"'Show him'," she echoed.

Fenris opened his eyes.

"I'll leave that up to you."

"Right. Splendid." Then, she moaned, holding a hand to her brow. "My head is pounding."

"And mine."

She wiped her hands on a clean towel.

"What a mess."

Fenris was wiping angrily at the desk.

"Is there any other habitat for an Emma?"

She turned to leave with a last sigh,

"No, I suppose there isn't."

"Don't forget to change," he said. "You'll frighten the guests."

Emma gave a weak scoff.

"Danarius wouldn't want that."

vVv

She scrubbed in a quick soak, dressed in a simple lounging dress (Danarius would just have to accept her informal attire), and combed fingers through her hair. Pinching her cheeks to get some color back into them, Emma returned to the parlor. Outside its door, she took a moment to grip her throbbing head.

"Something wrong?"

She turned. Danarius was there, a smile on his lips.

Swallowing the gasped yelp that had threatened to leave her, she fixed him with a glare.

"As a matter of fact," she said coldly, "I have a headache."

"A little redistribution of blood can help alleviate it. Allow me," he held up a hand.

Emma reached to close fingers around his. He glanced at their joined hands and raised a brow.

"Don't you _ever _use that blood magic on me," she said, making a conscious effort not to release his hand.

Another smile broke through.

"Oh?" he tilted his head. "Not for you?"

"It most certainly is not."

"Not even if it feels good?"

She glared.

"Never," she snapped.

He held up his free hand and she didn't contain her flinch— Fenris had said not to hide too much fear. Danarius expected it.

"Ah," he said. "I had meant it as a gesture of compliance."

Emma released a breath.

"My heart is going to stop any second."

He gave a small chuckle.

"Will I be permitted to pump blood through your veins if it does?"

"Only then," she replied.

Danarius stared at her, then held out an arm.

"Ready to retire?"

"Everyone is gone, then?"

"Yes."

Emma took his arm and they walked back the way she had come.

"How did it go?" he finally asked.

"I managed through some. Fenris came back to do the heavy lifting and found me having a nervous breakdown." Her voice was shaking. She swallowed. "We both decided that he'd better take over."

Danarius patted her hand.

"Are you afraid of me now?"

Here it was. The golden question.

"I'm not an idiot," she replied. "After seeing that display, of course, I am."

The magister nodded his understanding. She continued, encouraged.

"But I know you won't hurt me. And that helps ease my fear."

He chuckled.

"A good answer," he said. "A calculated one."

He gripped Emma's wrist and swung her. Her back met the wall— she bit her tongue, tasted blood. Danarius was upon her with the same soft eyes as before, his hand gripping her jaw tight.

"I, too, am not an idiot, Emma."

Her pounding head made her moan.

"You said…" she blinked up at him, his image swayed. "the spell would— that you wouldn't hurt me."

He leaned in, winding an arm around her waist. His lips grazed her ear.

"Perhaps you and I do not share the same definition of 'hurt'."

Danarius brought hands to cup her face as Fenris had done. How vastly different two pairs of hands could be.

"You want to leave," he said.

She winced as a roll of pain coursed through her head. The pain caused tears to form in her eyes. Emma bit her lip and let them fall.

She would feed him his own inquiries.

"Do you love me?" Emma asked.

His hands tensed around her face, and his gaze screwed up with— pain? Confusion? Emma couldn't see very well anymore. Everything was blurring.

But she could feel her lips brushing his as she spoke.

"My head… just this once, Danarius."

His hand was in her hair and the pain was gone.

"Yes," he said, "I do."

She sighed against his mouth, leaned into his kiss. Lifted arms to wrap around his neck.

"And I love you," she said to him. "I will never leave."

She could taste his tears in their kiss.

vVv

Fenris had heard the words from around the hall's corner. They made him blink through the searing pain in his chest.

He adjusted the rug over his shoulder and focused on ministrations. _If I put my hand here, if I put my foot there. _

As he walked, the elf wondered if Emma was doing the same.

_If I put my hand here, if I put my tongue there… _

He kicked the back door open with full force. It broke from the hinges in a fit of cracking. Fenris stepped into the night, clenching his teeth and focusing on ministrations. Best place to hide the body of a noblewoman in Minrathous… how to make it look as though she hadn't been Pulled…

"Hey!" Thanron's voice called from the kitchens. "Now I gotta fix that, on top of everythin' else! Thanks a lot, ya lout!"

vVv

Thanron came back inside in a huff. He glanced at a wide eyed Imraddon.

"What the fuck?" Thanron asked him.

"I have no idea."

"Dammit… " he ran hands through his hair. "Scared the piss outta me. Maker. Should we see if he's okay?"

Imraddon shook his head. Then, sighed.

"No good is to come of this."

"Yeah, you said that."

"Because it is true."

Thanron rubbed his face and glared at the fallen door. It was in three different pieces. He crouched, elbows on knees, and scratched his head.

"What a fucking mess."

vVv


	93. Silence her, Fenris

vVv

Larus asked Danarius to breathe. He did so, his chest rising against the healer's fingers. Nodding once and repositioning his hand, Larus requested another breath.

"And out."

The magister released his words with the exhale.

"There is nothing physically wrong with me."

Larus turned to his tools.

"I have not performed a physical examination on you in quite some time. I'm using Emma's request as an excuse to do so."

He leaned to deliver Danarius' knee a gentle blow with a reflex hammer. They watched his leg kick out. Danarius smirked.

"They are recurring?"

Upon being locked in a blank stare, Danarius rubbed his weary eyes. He shook his head. "Most nights they are chronological. As though I'm opening a book to the page I left off on."

"Without fail?"

He let his hand fall to his lap.

"Every night."

Larus crossed his arms. "How strong is your urge to…?"

Danarius' raised a brow.

The healer nodded, "Strong," before heaving a sigh. "Well, you'll just have to fight it. You can't go Pulling any person that makes you upset—"

"I am well aware of that, Larus. I am unable to think rationally when the—"

Emma entered the chamber, an open book between hands that still trembled.

"Oh, hello, Larus," she blinked. Then, smiled. It was forced. "Everything in order?"

"Yes," he nodded, "Good."

She nodded back and smiled again.

"Good."

Larus turned to pack away his things while Emma set aside her book and let her smile fall. She shivered, wiped a hand across her mouth, and closed her eyes for two seconds. Opening them, she glanced at Danarius and paled when she found him staring.

"_And I love you. I will never leave."_

He needed to believe it.

But it was difficult.

Emma fumbled with the corner of her book, shakily folding a corner and setting it aside. She clenched her fingers into fits— perhaps in an effort to stop shivering. The idea of being alone in a room with a sadistic murderer, and sharing his bed, was obviously frightening her. Of course, it would. Danarius needed to accept that. Emma had endured a trauma. Of course, she was shaken.

She loved him.

Danarius needed her.

With a blink, he realized Larus had left. That he had been staring at her too long. Emma had been waiting for him to speak. He peeled apart dry lips.

She spoke, instead.

"Are you feeling better?"

That was precisely what he was going to ask.

"I'm fi—"

"Do," she rubbed hands up and down the tops of her arms, "do you want to do that, now?"

"'Do that now'…" he scooted from the desk's top and stepped down. "Pull?"

Emma nodded.

"Not for the moment," he said.

"How soon will you—?"

"I have no way of knowing that."

After a silence, Emma dropped her arms with a sigh. "I don't know how to behave around you." She shivered and glanced away.

The simple statement brought him some satisfaction— though if he were to be asked why, he wouldn't know how to answer. He stared, the corner of his mouth pulled to smile. He didn't. His chest ached too much.

"Elaborate."

vVv

Larus had stumbled onto their kiss and stammered that he had come to give Danarius his physical. Embarrassed, Emma had dismissed herself to give them privacy— it had been a perfect excuse to see Fenris. To tell him what had happened. To ask what she needed to do and say next.

He had been brooding in the kitchens. Sipping wine, with his brow furrowed in thought.

"Where did you put her?"

"Sewer," he'd answered.

His hair had been wet. He'd bathed. His tunic had been clean. He had smelled nice.

She had sat down across him and told him what had happened. Somewhere in the middle, he'd begun to narrow eyes at the table. By the end, his elbow had been propped against it, eyes shielded by his hand.

"Should I—"

"Be quiet."

Emma had frowned and leaned back against the chair. She had let him think.

After a couple minutes, he had raised his head and said,

"I don't know how to behave around you."

vVv

They were sat on the edge of the bed.

Danarius seemed eager for her elaboration. He liked what she was saying, it was working. She thought of the elf's script and blended it with a few of her own true feelings and improvisations. With eyes to her lap, she said, "I know you desire a certain reaction from me, but I can't discern what."

Emma felt him shake his head beside her.

"You want me to feel a certain way. Any other reaction is a betrayal."

"No," he began to argue, but Emma continued.

"Death frightens me. I don't want to see it. After watching that— I'm afraid. But you seem angered by my fear… and disgusted."

When he didn't reply, she raised her face to his.

"Fear and hate are two different things."

"_Compare him to God."_

"We fear the Maker, but we do not hate him."

vVv

The elf had told Emma to take Danarius' hand as the elf reached across the table to take hers.

"I want to be myself around you. I want to tell you what I'm thinking. I don't want to feel as though I'm under scrutinization. Let me react how I react."

vVv

"Wouldn't you rather me be honest?"

Danarius' brought their joint hands to his lips.

vVv

"You have to trust me."

Fenris had leaned across the table. Hair had fallen into his eyes, and his teeth had glinted with the words, "I love you."

The elf's mouth had been only inches from hers.

"Kiss him."

To Emma's disappointment, he hadn't demonstrated. He had leaned to fall back into his chair. Gaze a little glazed. Emma had wondered how much wine he had drunk.

Fenris had finished off the glass and wiped his mouth.

"He'll want to have sex after that."

vVv

"I love you, Danarius."

She cupped hands around his face, as they had each done to her, and kissed him.

Fenris had been right about that last bit. Without a word, the magister made his intentions clear. He took her waist, brushed the hair from her neck, and trailed kisses up her throat. When he cupped her breast and moved the flesh, Emma raised eyes to the hearth.

No elf was standing before it. No audience for her act.

Emma closed her eyes.

"Emma."

She was dizzy. He was beautiful. It was the spell that made her think so. The spell that made her see his glistening lips, his bright and half lidded eyes, his flushed skin.

His hands gripped the tops of her arms. His voice was rough as he said, "Do you want me to stop?"

Trying to think, Emma stared up at him.

She said to him as she had said to the elf:

"I don't know."

And she didn't.

Danarius decided for her. The hands gripping her arms shoved her down. She met the bed with a soft grunt as some wind left her. Then, he was above her, knees planted on both sides of her body. He clenched the front of her dress in his fist and yanked it back— she flinched at the sound of its tearing. Coldness brushed her skin. Bunching the fabric between his fingers, he brought it to his nose and smelled deeply. He cast the tatters aside and gazed down at her flesh. Emma watched his eyes sweep her breasts, her stomach, the apex of her thighs.

"It was difficult to wait."

He placed a flat hand to her stomach.

"I wanted you."

His hand slid upward to cup her breast, his thumb moving over the nipple.

"Did you want me, too?"

Before she could part her lips, he gripped her arm and flipped her around. Another tearing sound as he ripped the fabric of her underwear away. His hands were around her buttocks, spreading it apart with a force that startled her. She reached behind herself to grip his wrist.

"Do you want me to stop?"

"I want you to be more—"

"If you are permitting me to do this, I will do it as I like."

Emma clenched the blankets, tried to turn around. His hand reached up to press her head against the bed.

"Fine," she spoke into the blankets. "I am not permitting you."

"Understood. But, first, allow me to plead my case."

The hand that was clutching her buttocks slid down, until his thumb was brushing her slit. As she began to protest, he pushed it past her lips, moving further down to swirl about the bundle of nerves. He reached his hand to stroke her in small, quick circles. Emma formed words of protest, but they left her mouth as only small sounds.

Danarius drew his fingers away with a soft chuckle. His hand clenched her hair and he pulled her head back. The fingers that had been inside her were pushed into her mouth.

"Does that taste like permission?"

vVv

Fenris was torturing himself.

His back rested against the wall beside the door. He could hear their every word— an elf's vice and virtue.

It hadn't been his intention to listen. His room was only a door away from theirs. He had been resolved to enter his own chambers, draw the sheets over his head, and sleep through whatever would pass. He knew that Emma would be alright. He believed that Danarius was not too far gone yet to stop if the human desired him to. And if she didn't desire him to stop— then there was not a problem, at all.

But the sound of tearing had made him pause before his door.

He listened.

And imagined Danarius' fingers, slick with her arousal, being pushed past round lips.

vVv

"Your verdict?"

Emma didn't answer. She was glad to have her face buried in the blankets.

With that, he grabbed her hips and pulled her to him.

vVv

He listened.

The sounds she made with Danarius were different than the sounds she made with Fenris. Less moaning and more sharp breathing. More small grunts that he imagined were caused by the force of Danarius pushing himself inside her.

Fenris couldn't determine if she was enjoying it.

Though, the magister had given her a last opportunity to stop it. And she hadn't.

vVv

Danarius reached a hand to grab hers and forced it beneath herself— guided her fingers to feel him pushing in and out of her. The vulgarity made her face heat. He then moved her fingers to her clit and showed her the motions he wanted her to make. She did.

"Ugh."

He brought her harder against him with each thrust.

vVv

That's enough.

Fenris pulled a hard fist to his aching chest. Again. Created a new pain. Stepped away. He'd had enough.

It was just as well that Hadriana waited in his chambers.

"Enjoying the show?" she asked from his bed. "Are you jealous of Danarius?"

He wordlessly wrenched her body to his, closed his eyes and leaned to kiss her. She spoke against his mouth.

"Are you jealous of Emma?"

Fenris smiled sardonically, placing a hand against her chest.

Then, he shoved her backward.

With wide eyes, she fell back onto the bed. A curse ripped out between her teeth as she leaned up, but Fenris was upon her, his hand clamped to her mouth.

"Are you jealous of Emma?" He echoed with a tilted head. "Do you want your uncle to fuck you, instead?"

She growled and bit his finger. Thin lines of blood ran down her chin. He narrowed his eyes.

"Do you think your scheme is working?" he shoved his bitten fingers further into Hadriana's mouth— a bloody simulation of the wed couple's bedplay. "Ignorant woman."

She glared up at him. He removed his hand.

"If you open that door," he said, "you'll find two people in love."

Hadriana had begun to tremble with anger.

"Only this room contains unrequitedness."

"Shut up," she said. "Shut up, shut up, shut up, _shut up, SHUT UP!_"

With an electric force of magic she thrust him into the opposite wall. His impact shook the room. Her magic clenched him as he crumpled into a jolting heap upon the floor.

Jerkingly, he brought his head up to look at her.

"Care— careful, Danarius won't w-want to be interrupted."

She leapt from the bed and charged him. She gripped his hair and dropped to her knees, yanking his head against the floor with a loud thud.

"Who said that you could talk to me this way?"

Hadriana shoved his face harder into the floor. He sighed at the pain and flitted eyes to hers.

"You're no longer— the wo-woman of his house."

The door was wrenched open.

"_Fenris_, what are you—?"

Danarius stared down at them, wearing only his undergarments and glistening with sweat.

"Hadriana."

She clambered to her feet.

"Uncle—"

"I don't care," he calmly interrupted. "Go to bed."

"I'm not a child anymore! You can't—"

Danarius silently held the door open for her. His gaze had darkened.

After delivering Fenris a hard kick to the stomach, she left the room.

The magister stared down at him.

"Are you alright?"

He couldn't yet make a sound, couldn't yet draw a breath. So, he nodded.

"Mm."

The door closed. Opened again.

"Come with me."

Fenris stiffened against the floor.

"Hurry."

He drew himself up and rose to his feet.

Danarius entered his own chambers. Fenris followed.

vVv

Emma had quickly grabbed another nightgown when he'd left, in the event that the loud bang would require her involvement. She was standing by the hearth when they entered. With wide eyes, she met the gaze of Fenris.

"What is he doing here?"

"I want him," replied Danarius, matter-of-factly.

"Why?"

"For sex, Emma." He narrowed his eyes at her like she had asked a very stupid question. "I thought we understood that I use him for that."

She stared between the pair of them. Her mouth was dry.

"I thought we understood that I think of that as rape—"

"Let us save the ethical debate for tomorrow. I need his lyrium, flower, if you'd not like me to Pull again tonight."

The elf was bleeding from the nose. His hand was bleeding freely.

"Do you not think him attractive?" Danarius frowned. "I've noticed your staring at him. I thought you'd be pleased."

Fenris fixed Emma with hard eyes of warning. The trouble with non-verbal warnings is, however, that one cannot discern what they are being warned to say or not say. Did the elf want her to admit it— to not try to deny it? Or did he want her to lie and find an excuse?

When in doubt, Emma had learned, fire back your own questions.

"You need his lyrium?"

"Yes, it quells my urge to Pull," Danarius crossed over to the wine table. "If not directly touched, lyrium can become a buffer against magic." He poured three glasses. "I could simply touch his skin but— I prefer extensive contact."

"Do you prefer men, too?"

He glanced up with a raised brow.

Another stupid question.

"Wine?" he asked them.

Emma sighed. Hoped her flush wasn't too apparent. And that no one could detect her racing heart. She glanced at Fenris. He was nursing his bloody nose. Crossing to Danarius' side, she wet a towel and collected a glass of wine. Emma brought them both to Fenris.

"Thank you," he said.

His hand shook as it accepted the towel, fingers brushing hers when he took the wine. He glanced away and wiped at the blood around his nose.

"How long have you had Fenris?"

"You are killing the mood," Danarius replied. "Silence her, Fenris."

Without any more need for prompting, the elf tossed his towel into the hearth and kissed her.

He provided no more contact than was commanded. Just a joining of their lips. Simply to "silence her". Fenris pulled away and looked to Danarius for further instruction.

The magister was eyeing them curiously.

"Again," he commanded around the glass edge. He took a drink as Fenris turned to her.

Green eyes held needless apology. As though he were to blame for their arrangement. His touch conveyed his regret, as well. Two fingers brushed her arm before dropping to his side— a reflex.

He brought lips to hers in another chaste kiss and began to draw away when Danarius said,

"Until I command you to stop, Fenris."

Fenris met her eyes. Apologetic, again.

He kissed her and held his mouth against hers. The action was rigid and he held his breath.

Troubled by his worry of troubling her, she brushed her tongue along his lower lip— the act too swift to be detected by Danarius. Fenris gasped against her mouth in a silent sucking of air. It had worked. He seemed to relax a bit, his lips softening against hers.

They waited for Danarius to command their stopping.

"More," he said. "If I had wanted you to simply stand, lip-to-lip, I would have requested it."

With that, Fenris moved his lips against Emma's, and she returned the movement. It sent a zing of pleasure between her legs.

Danarius left the wine table, a full glass in each hand.

"Here," he nudged Emma's arm with the glass and she regretfully pulled away. Dazed, she accepted the wine and drew from its depths. She closed her eyes around the gulps.

She'd had quite a day, after all.

When Emma opened her eyes, she saw that Danarius had engaged Fenris in a fervent kiss of their own. The elf's eyes were open and staring at Emma. He must not have been enjoying it. And yet, though she would never admit it to a single, living soul, the sight aroused her.

It's the spell, Emma reasoned. It's creating lust. The two men that she found attractive (albeit one, artificially) were locked in a kiss. She set her glass aside.

Danarius drew away and handed Fenris his glass, who immediately took to long drags. He then wrapped Emma in his arms and kissed her acutely.

She opened an eye to see Fenris watching her as she had, over the top of his wine.

Then, Emma roused from her stupor.

Fenris was a slave. He was being commanded into sexual acts.

She pulled away from Danarius.

There she'd been, getting caught up in her lust like a mabari in heat.

"That's enough," said Emma.

Danarius blinked at her.

"'Enough'?"

"This is wrong."

He frowned at the concept and glanced at Fenris. Then, he reached to grab Emma's hand and yanked it to the elf's groin. Some wine sloshed from Fenris' glass onto her arm.

Danarius rubbed her hand over the elf. He was hard. When the magister's hand stilled their movement, she could feel a dull throbbing beneath his trousers.

"Fenris doesn't seem to think so."

She met Fenris' eyes.

They were clouded with the same lust that she felt.

A warmth rushed through her belly.

Danarius took the elf's glass and set it aside.

"Now," he glanced lazily between them both, "let's try this again. This time, Fenris; kiss her so that she is barely able to breathe."

Emma could see the flush that crawled along his skin, could feel her own rising to heat her neck.

"Yes, master."

vVv


End file.
